


The Final Horcrux

by asecretchord



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Mystery, Snarry-A-Thon17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asecretchord/pseuds/asecretchord
Summary: Auror Harry Potter leads an ordinary life, though he's had a bit of trouble moving on after the War. After Harry is attacked at Flourish & Blotts, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is convinced there's a plot to murder him. Harry is determined to prove them wrong.





	The Final Horcrux

**Author's Note:**

> First, a million thanks to torino10154 and lilyseyes, who granted extensions to my requests for extensions and allowed me the opportunity to significantly rearrange and rewrite this story. I didn't quite nail down the prompt as much as I could have, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Prompt 37: After the war, Horcruxes become a craze among dark wizards (mostly due to irresponsible press representation by The Daily Prophet), and someone tries to murder Harry to make one. Snape saves him once again...but the attempts on Harry's life keep happening.

**Part I**

Harry Potter pushed open the door to Flourish and Blotts with a deep sigh. Hermione's birthday was on Wednesday next and even after having known her for sixteen years, he could think of nothing better than a book to give to her. On the one hand, Hermione was a voracious reader; if it was in print she devoured it regardless of the topic. On the other hand, it always seemed a bit trite. "Here, Hermione, another book for your vast collection." But Marlies Meissnitzer's definitive history of house-elves had just been translated from the original German and Hermione couldn't wait to get her hands on a copy.

Harry kept his head down as he strode into the shop. Even now, ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts, he was uncomfortable being out in public. There was always some well-meaning witch or wizard who felt the need to thank him for spending fifteen years being miserable. Or hunted. Hunted was definitely worse. It didn't matter how often he mentioned he was merely one of many who had played his part to see peace in his time, they seemed honour-bound to express their gratitude. He truly wished they'd forget.

He wandered through the maze-like stacks of Flourish and Blotts. As far as he could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of merchandise on the tables and shelves. Books on household charms were just as likely to be shelved next to treatises on vampires; haphazard baskets of quills were just as likely to be found beside the quilted book jackets as they were near pots of ink. Harry recalled an old charm Hermione had taught him back when he was trying to learn to breathe underwater that helped locate books in the library. It was worth a try so Harry pulled out his holly wand and cast the spell as surreptitiously as possible.

The crone at the cash register glared at him and Harry shoved his wand back in its pocket, hoping he hadn't broken one of those unwritten rules he never seemed to know about. A few titles were still glowing and, after giving her a half-hearted grin of apology, he turned towards the shelf nearest the window.

It was a lovely late summer afternoon on Diagon Alley. Soft beams of sunlight filtered through thin, high clouds shone lazily on gilt titles and warmed various patches of old, thin carpet. All the place needed, really, was an old kneazle curled up somewhere to sleep (or not) to lend it a slight touch of hominess. With the school term underway, the Alley was fairly quiet; only a handful of other visitors wandered through the shop with him and none had approached him. He glanced around automatically, scanning the area, noting exits, and comparing the faces of shoppers to a mental list of known miscreants he kept in his head. No one set off any alarms, internal or otherwise, so he began his browsing in earnest.

Twenty minutes later, Harry found the book tucked neatly in between _Fifty Potions to Transform Your Home_ and _A Brief History of Mercury in Retrograde and its Effect on the Goblin Wars 1361 – 1832_. Hagrid's rock cakes could only hope to be as thick. Working his fingertips around the spine of the book on house-elves, Harry spent a ridiculous amount of time working it out from between the volumes on either side.

The cover was haunting. A cluster of house-elves, bound in chains and magic, wailed whilst punishing themselves with implements of torture. Letters purposed to appear as spurting blood spelled out the title: _When Bonding Spells Fail: the Enchantment and Enslavement of House-Elves_. Harry could barely look at it. He took a step towards the counter when another title caught his eye. Just as he reached for it, he heard a shriek from a passerby on the pavement outside the shop. His head snapped around as he reached instinctively for his wand, only to relax a moment later. It had been a shriek of laughter. He turned his attention back to the book, hand outstretched.

"Potter!"

Harry barely had enough time to lift his head before a hard body tackled him. He flew back and the side of his head bounced off the lowest shelf. Harry saw stars. The topmost shelf where his head had been exploded and pages from ruined books fluttered throughout the aisle. The few other shoppers screamed and dove for cover. Dazed, Harry struggled to wriggle out from under the person holding him down, but a firm hand pressed hard into the centre of his chest.

"Stay down!" a voice whispered harshly in his ear. Harry sensed movement and craned his head his head around to see what was happening. The ceiling swung around in a dizzying fashion. A spell whizzed past dangerously close to his ear and he closed his eyes, marshalling the strength necessary to reach his wand. But his arm was pinned under him and, crushed the way he was against the bookcase, it was unlikely he would be able to reach it in time.

He gasped for breath as an elbow connected with his midsection. When he was finally able to inhale, his nose was filled with a dark, pungent, almost spicy aroma. "Snape," he breathed, certain he must have hit his head harder than he thought. The man was dead. Harry had seen him die, had buried him, had fought tooth and nail to clear his name and have his portrait painted and hung in the Headmaster's office where it rightfully belonged. If anyone knew Snape was dead, it was Harry.

Cool grey eyes stared down at him. "You truly _are_ an idiot. Until now, your lack of mental capacity had only been an unfounded rumour." The man sent another spell flying and Harry heard a grunt of pain from somewhere nearby.

Another curse, blood red and dangerous, streaked past the stranger's shoulder and the man ducked his head, his breath hot in Harry's ear.

"What…?" he asked fuzzily, unable to see much more than the ceiling and the robes of the man on top of him. Someone ran down a nearby aisle, the sound of boots thunderously loud. The bell over the door tinkled. Had someone noted the chaos inside the bookshop and come to rescue them? Or had a patron made an escape? Another spell launched from the wand of his "rescuer" and a nearby lamp exploded in pieces. Once again, Harry tried to push the man off, but the room was still spinning too much for more than a token effort.

"You'll thank me later for this," the stranger murmured in his ear. Harry felt the tip of the man's wand slide through his hair and the world vanished.

~*~

"Can you describe the man?" Harry's partner, Auror Faye Turner, asked him.

Harry shook his head lightly and winced as his brain sloshed around in his skull, turning his pounding headache into a thunderous one. "I didn't see much more than his hair and his robes. Old, worn, rather ordinary. His hair was either light brown or dark blond. I've no idea how tall he is or how much he weighs, though I'd guess he's a bit on the slender side."

One of the mediwizards on the Spell Damage ward appeared at Harry's bedside with an all-too familiar potion bottle. "We patched up that nasty cut on the side of your head. It's a good thing you've got such a thick skull, Mr Potter. Healer Cuthbert says it's still in one piece, but you must have a wee bit of headache after taking a Stunning Spell at such close range."

"Is that what it was?" asked Harry as he reached for the phial. He uncorked it with his thumb, downed the contents in a single swallow and grimaced. He hoped some enterprising potioneer would make it taste palatable, or less like bog slime at any rate. "I thought I'd…well, I don't know what I thought. First I was there, then I was here. I've really no idea what happened in the middle."

Faye scratched the back of her head, her red Auror robes fluttering as she shifted in her seat. "Robards sent Markham to speak with old Mrs Forsythe, the woman who works the register, but you know how Markham is."

Harry knew. Wendell Markham couldn't see the forest on account of all those trees. He focussed in on the smallest detail and somehow lost the main plot in the process. He was the sort who investigated a robbery and left the scene without having the first idea what had been taken. "Did Wendell come away with anything more than 'there was a bit of a ruckus'?"

Faye shook her head. "Not really, no. According to him, Forsythe reported that you came into the shop not long before some great commotion started behind the display nearest the front window. She says she ducked down behind the counter, watched 'a great many feet go past', heard someone Disapparate, and fire called us when she discovered you sprawled on the floor and bleeding all over her merchandise. Robards sent me here to see if you could add anything." An eyebrow arched over warm brown eyes. "He also said if you come to work tomorrow, he'll put you in a full Body Bind and send you home through the Floo."

It hurt to laugh, but Harry chuckled nonetheless. "He would, too." He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath. The construction crew in his head had packed up for the day and Harry was now able to take a moment and think. "There were only a handful of people inside the shop when I got there, and I don't recall hearing the bell over the door ring whilst I was looking for Hermione's book." His voice trailed off. "I had a book with me when that bloke tackled me. I wonder what became of it."

Faye made a note. "We'll find it. Anything else?"

"Let's ask Mrs Forsythe if she knows any of the customers who were in the shop when the commotion started. It may be that some of them are regulars. Also, it might help if we were to ask about the last person who entered—"

"Markham seems to think that was you."

"Me?" His brow furrowed. "Odd, isn't it, that all the players were there beforehand?" Judging from the sounds around him, Harry had been the only one hurled to the floor. He had glanced up at the sound of his name and then found himself flying backwards through the air. He would bet his last galleon that no one else had been 'rescued', which made him the target.

But who had knocked him down? And why? There hadn't been any curses flying beforehand; Harry would have noticed. It was just a quiet afternoon in a bookshop. When the disorientation had cleared, all he remembered was being shoved beneath the hard, lean body of a man, and then nothing. Though…

"There was one other thing," said Harry slowly. "He smelled musky, almost spicy. Like powdered moonstone or murtlap. Maybe a bit of amber." Aromas Harry remembered from the worst of his Potions lessons. "For a moment, I almost thought I was back at Hogwarts." And Snape was alive.

"Well, it's a bit more to go on than we had a moment ago. We'll check with the apothecaries and potions shops to see if there's anyone who fits your description." Faye tucked her notes into a pocket and glanced over at the mediwizard, who had exhibited an inordinate amount of interest in the proceedings. "I don't suppose you have anything to add?" she asked the mediwizard pointedly.

The mediwizard fumbled with the empty potions phial and shook his head. "No. No. It's just that, well, it's _him._ " His cheeks reddened and he risked a furtive glance at a very unimpressed Harry Potter. "You know how it is."

"No, actually, I don't," said Harry. He hadn't made a fuss when Victor Krum visited Hogwarts with the Durmstrang competitors for the Triwizard Cup. He had never been the least bit star struck at meeting any of the Ministers of Magic. He'd barely blinked when the Weird Sisters played at the Yule Ball. Why anyone would be the least bit interested in his life continued to be unfathomable. He was the dullest person he knew. "Can I go now?"

"Ah, about that." The mediwizard patted himself as though searching for his quill and glanced around the small cubicle where Harry had been housed. "The Healer would prefer you to remain overnight. Head injury, Stunning Spell. Routine precaution, you understand."

"And if I were to leave?"

The mediwizard blinked. "You're not a prisoner, Mr Potter, but it would be best if you spent the night so we can keep an eye on you."

There were few places Harry enjoyed less than hospital wings of any sort. "What are you watching for?" Though he was loath to admit it, he was enjoying the mediwizard's discomfiture.

The mediwizard blinked. "The usual: headache, confusion, dizziness, sleepiness—"

"It's nearly ten o'clock at night."

"Yes, well, we'll be waking you every hour or so to see if you know where you are, what your name is, see if you know who the Minister is. The usual."

Harry swung his legs over the side of the narrow bed. "Bring me my clothes and anything I need to sign. Faye, tell Robards that I'll be in on Friday. I've no desire to have him pull rank, so I'll be a good little Auror and rest up." It would be interesting to see how long it took Robards to check up on him, and Harry had no intention of being found home. He was already planning out the first few steps of his investigation, starting with placing his memories in a Pensieve to see if he could pick out the man he hadn't really met yet. There was something about him that appealed to him on a fundamental level, and Merlin knew Harry could stand to get out more. Or at all, really.

After the war, Harry had thrown himself into Auror training with all the fervour of a true believer. Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts. Ron had moved to London and worked alongside George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Once Ginny left Hogwarts, she'd signed on with the Holyhead Harpies. They'd parted amicably, something for which Harry was eternally grateful.

Once he'd finished his training programme, he'd taken to visiting Minerva McGonagall at the weekend and on odd evenings when his schedule permitted. It was then that he'd learned that Snape's portrait wasn't hanging with the other headmasters. Under the guise of rectifying that unspeakable wrong, Harry learnt all that he could about one Severus Snape. Most of Wizarding Britain thought him a bit mad for embarking on that crusade. The less charitable amongst them thought him obsessed.

There was a small chance they were correct. As weeks stretched into months, as Harry interviewed everyone who had ever known his former Potions professor, Severus Snape, the bane of his existence, underwent a bit of a transformation. Inexplicably, Snape had become Harry's idea of the perfect companion, a helpmate. A hearth mate if truth be told. A person with whom he could share his life without having to explain anything. The ramifications didn't bear close examination, so, as with everything else in life Harry found unpleasant, he simply set it aside.

At the end of the day, however, Snape had a perfectly acceptable portrait that hung in a corner of the headmaster's office where its presence wouldn't offend those of delicate sensibilities. Despite the exceptional skills of the portraitist and the combined efforts of Filius Flitwick and an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries, the portrait neither moved nor spoke. To say Harry was disappointed would be an understatement. In fact, he was so devastated by the loss that Minerva grew alarmed. And curious—as only a feline Animagus could be. Thus was born the tradition of Harry visiting the castle at least once a week to sit with her during supper and say whatever was on his mind.

"Minerva," began Harry at one of their customary dinners a week or so after the incident in Flourish and Blotts. "Would you be willing to view my memory and see if you recognise anybody? The shopkeeper, Mrs Forsythe, knew one of the customers, but not the rest. And I'd really like to know who knocked me down." He gazed out at the rows of house tables, at the candles floating lazily over the heads of the hundreds of students, and refused to meet Minerva's questioning eyes. "He smelled like the dungeons," he added in a low voice. "And he acted like he knew me."

Minerva hid her amusement behind her goblet. "And who in this world does not know Harry Potter?"

"Not like that! I mean, it was like he knew me, knew what I would do or say, or how I would react. Like he expected me to do something foolish before I'd worked out what was going on and was torn between stopping me or being blown to bits." Harry felt his cheeks heat up and glanced at the Slytherin table since it meant looking away from Minerva. "I'd at least like to thank him for that."

"Naturally." Harry could practically hear her eyebrow arch. "And what does Ms Granger make of all this?"

Harry squirmed. "I haven't exactly told them." He spent every free Sunday afternoon at the Burrow along with whichever Weasleys managed to show up and usually had a tale or two to tell about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but any inquiries about his private life were met with a shrug of the shoulders and a "not much to tell, really." After a year of being introduced to various women and somehow managing to avoid dates with any of them, even Ron finally caught a clue and stopped helping Harry find someone. Hermione was convinced it would all happen in time—or not. Either was fine in her books provided Harry was happy.

That earned a close look. "Why ever not? It's not like you to keep secrets from them."

Harry turned a bit in his seat and met her eyes. "All I do is keep secrets from them. They have their own lives now. Rose will be getting a brother or sister soon. Bill and Fleur are on their third. Percy's finally married and has started a family. Ginny is… Ginny and Charlie are following their own paths. I have enough of a family through them that I'm not all that keen on having one of my own." He turned his attention back to the rows of students lining the tables and unknowingly sighed.

It wasn't particularly difficult to find within the rows a young Hermione, or an energetic Ron who spoke with his mouth full. There was a shy Neville over at the Hufflepuff table and a preening Lavender amongst the Ravenclaws. A new Draco was holding court along one of the Gryffindor benches and Harry even spotted a Fred and George tucked away near the Slytherins. If he'd looked hard enough, however, he would have found a third-year boy or two who was already overburdened with the weight of knowledge he couldn't bear to share. The hunched shoulders would be painfully familiar.

"How old are you now, Harry? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Isn't it time to stop running from yourself?"

Harry didn't turn his head. "It's not so simple," he said in a thick voice. "If you're worried I've not come to terms with being bent, you couldn't be more wrong. It's how I am. But I can't seem to move beyond what happened here." He lifted stricken eyes to her face. "I can't find my way past what I learned when it was too late to change things. To say 'I understand now. I forgive you.' Everything I've done since the War—clearing his name, hanging his portrait in the headmaster's office, hooking up with tall, dark, and not particularly handsome…" His voice caught and he hated himself for being weak. "There's so much unfinished business there and I'll never have a chance to put paid to the account and close those books." A crooked smile twisted his lips. "I'm obsessed and I know it. That's why Ron and Hermione know to leave well enough alone. And why I keep my secrets."

"And why you want me to watch those memories," Minerva deduced. "To close off one more avenue of hope."

"To keep myself fully grounded in the present," corrected Harry. "It would be too easy to lose myself in fantasy, to think that maybe he somehow survived Nagini and is still protecting me the way he promised Albus he would. Or to take the first steps along the path of madness and believe he's somehow managed to resurrect himself as my guardian angel. I know I've built him up as some larger-than-life hero and erased his flaws, but Merlin, maybe if I'd have known some of this when I was his student, I would have given him the respect he deserved."

"Or perhaps he would have been twice as vicious and unyielding. Severus Snape was never fully on your side, Harry. He was his own man and was never straight or narrow enough to walk the path of goodness. He was angry and bitter practically from the moment of his birth, certainly to the moment of his death. The only reason he agreed to keep you safe was to use you as a means to an end. Never forget that Severus was interested only in himself."

Harry's eyes glinted in amusement. "And you know as well as I do that I can provide you with a hundred examples of when he acted in the interests of others." The light in his eyes dimmed. "He will always be the one who got away. Even if he'd lived, even if we'd never become anything more than former enemies, he left a space in my heart that no one else can fill. That's the tragedy of the Boy-Who-Lived, Minerva. He fell in love with an illusion."

Plates started vanishing off tables and the students began rising in groups of two, three, or four to make their way back to their common rooms or to the library to finish up whatever homework had been assigned. Decks of Exploding Snap would be brought out, chessmen roused from their slumber. A few intrepid Quidditch players would make their way down to the pitch for an hour or so of practise despite not being able to see Bludger or Snitch.

"Shall we go up, then? I would like to see those memories of yours." Minerva rose from the table, as did most of the staff. Neville gave Harry a brief nod before heading up towards Gryffindor tower. "I warn you that there are a great many students I've forgotten, especially if they weren't in my House, but Filius and Horace might recognise some of them."

"Or Poppy," added Harry, "especially if they played on any of the Quidditch teams."

"Too true," agreed Minerva. She rose and climbed the Great Stair with Harry, chatting amiably about work, Sprout's upcoming retirement, Neville's suitability as her replacement as Professor of Herbology, and the probability of finding a new Head of House for Hufflepuff capable of stepping into some rather large shoes.

"But I thought Neville was already teaching Herbology."

"He is. But as you know, Horace and Pomona stayed on as a favour to me, especially since we had so many new teachers right after the war ended. Filius claims to be years from retirement, and Horace can't decide one way or the other whether he'd like to stay on, but Pomona is ready to take her leave of us. Neville has been teaching up through OWL levels, overseeing the greenhouses and settling in as Head of Gryffindor, whilst Pomona has taken on the NEWT students, mentors four of our newest teachers, and manages the Hufflepuffs."

"Putting together an apprenticeship program was a good idea, though Robards would have been much happier if you hadn't raided the Department to find professors."

Minerva snorted. "You may remember that I went over the qualifications for Auror Corps with you, oh, way back in your fifth year when we had the pleasure," never had a word dripped with such sarcasm, "of Dolores Umbridge sharing her expertise with us. Aurors required NEWTs in—"

"Defence, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Herbology," recited Harry with a grin. "And to be honest, I don't think I'll ever forget that meeting with you. I especially liked the part where you told Umbridge I'd done well on tests set by competent teachers. I thought she was going to burst into flame."

"Quite," replied Minerva. "And since I needed professors to teach Transfiguration and Defence, as well as Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, and Magical Creatures, it seemed to me that one or two of the more experienced Aurors might like a quieter life here at Hogwarts. Ah, here we are." Minerva paused at the gargoyle and uttered a quick phrase. "Devon Rex." The gargoyle obediently leapt aside and Harry stepped onto the moving stairs just behind Minerva.

The office had changed significantly since Snape ruled Hogwarts, though he had left it largely the way his predecessor had. Gone were all the magical instruments and shelves full of books. There was no perch for Fawkes nor cabinet holding many of the memories of a long and productive life. A plain desk with a wooden chair sat near a wall, a tartan tin of biscuits perched on its corner. Around the fireplace sat a collection of overstuffed couches and chairs, enough to seat a dozen, with spindly legged tables set between them. A rolling teacart sat in a corner, ready with cups, saucers, and a large pot of steaming water. Minerva flicked her wand at it and a tray of sweetmeats appeared.

"Let's see…" Her wand flickered again and a nice, warm fire roared into being. A few of the portraits stirred and one or two murmured a drowsy good evening to Harry. Though Dumbledore's portrait appeared to be sound asleep, Harry suspected he was dozing until the conversation started. Minerva's sharp eyes gazed over a row of cabinets and cupboards stationed along the back wall. "I believe I stored Albus' Pensieve…there."

Minerva McGonagall was every bit as proficient at Transfiguration as Albus Dumbledore had been. With a complex movement of her wand, a low stone table materialised not far from a central cabinet. A large, flat basin floated out of the cabinet and settled in the centre of the table while a pair of plain wooden chairs appeared on either side.

Whilst Minerva readied the Pensieve for use, Harry poured out two cups of tea and nibbled on a small square of toffee. He carried the tea over to the table and waited. "I have the memory in a phial, so you can watch it whenever you'd like. But you'd be doing me a great service if you can name any of the people you see. Mrs Forsythe doesn't really know what happened. She says her back was to the shop and she turned when the bloke yelled my name. She couldn't see the person who was sending curses at us from where she was hiding." He set the phial on the table and walked over to gaze out the window.

Harry sipped his tea as he stared out over the Forbidden Forest, waiting until a sufficient amount of time had passed for Minerva to watch his recollection of the attack at Flourish and Blotts. As time trickled by, he found that he had wandered over to Snape's portrait. Sorrowful green eyes examined it closely and he brushed a bit of dust off the frame. "I wish you'd wake up," he whispered. "I've so much I want to say to you." Snape's portrait continued to scowl and Harry pushed his breath past the tight confines of his throat.

"Harry. Would you watch this with me?"

Harry started at hearing Minerva's voice and tore himself away from the portrait. "Of course." He walked over and stood at the table opposite Minerva. He'd had loads of experience watching Pensieve memories with another person, so he waited for her to tell him what to keep an eye out for.

"I recognize Alice Koenig," said Minerva. "She's the witch in dark blue. She's standing just beyond the advert for Rita Skeeter's newest book and bending over to retrieve a sickle someone dropped. Tell me what you see to her left." She took a deep breath and put her face in the Pensieve. Harry joined her.

Once the memory had ended, Harry lifted his face and met her grey eyes with puzzled frown. "Was there someone next to her when that man shouted my name? And was…he? in the shop when she arrived?"

Minerva's brow furrowed. "I'm not certain," she admitted. "It seemed to me that there was someone who walked in just behind her and followed her about the shop. As soon as the other wizard called your name, he—I believe that's a wizard—vanished. I thought I saw him move in your direction, but I have to say, Harry, it seems your memories don't have quite the detail that Albus' did." She frowned and dove into the Pensieve for a third time.

When she had finished, she beckoned him over to one of the comfortable chairs by the fire. "Here is what I saw. There were six people in the shop when you arrived: Mrs Forsythe, Alice Koenig, a couple I don't recognise, your rescuer, and the wizard who sent the curses at you."

"The male half of the couple is Urquhart Rackharrow. Mrs Forsythe told us he visits regularly. The witch with him is his niece. We don't have her name yet."

"Your guardian angel did a rather remarkable job of keeping you in sight without letting on that he was watching you. I noticed that he made a point of passing close by everyone else in the shop, but our stranger, if that's a person at all, managed to keep a row of books between them the entire time." Harry watched her face as her thoughts turned inward. She appeared to arrive at some conclusion and rose swiftly to throw some Floo powder on the fire. "Filius, can you come up? I've a question for you."

"Have you anything to add to what I observed?" she asked as they waited for Flitwick to join them.

"Only that my protector had been a very frequent visitor recently. Mrs Forsythe told us he'd been in there three or four times a day since the first of September and usually stayed for at least half an hour."

Before Minerva could remark upon that, the fire turned bright green and Filius Flitwick stepped out of the flames. "Have you a charm you can't quite work out then, Mr Potter?" he asked with his usual good humour. "A bit of magic you've not seen before?"

Harry chuckled. "That happens nearly every day. No, Minerva didn't tell me why she asked you here, but I reckon it's about that ruckus at Flourish and Blotts."

Flitwick nodded and Summoned a cup of tea as he climbed up into a nearby chair. "We were greatly relieved to learn you'd not been injured." He took a deep breath and shot Minerva an apologetic look. "Would you like us to let you know if we hear any murmurings from the dungeon?"

Harry glanced over at Minerva. Her lips were set in a thin, hard line, and he could only imagine the conversations that must have taken place when the article in the _Daily Prophet_ came out. He squirmed a bit in his chair. "I thought we were well past the animosity between Houses. Are you saying it's started back up again?"

"No! Oh no. Not at all," they both rushed to assure him, which only roused Harry's curiosity. Perhaps he should arrange a visit with Hagrid for the weekend. Hagrid seemed a bit more in tune with the goings on at Hogwarts than most people suspected, though it sometimes took a bit of guesswork on Harry's part to ask the right questions. It was much easier when he was in the thick of things at the castle and had a general sense of what was happening around him.

"Truly, Harry, it's just the usual competition for the House Cup," Minerva assured him. "Slytherin aren't even in last place anymore."

"Does anyone award them points?" asked Harry as his eyes slid over to Snape's portrait. There was no question that the former Head of Slytherin House was the most biased man to stride the halls of Hogwarts in several generations, but Harry acknowledged the truth of it—Snape was the only teacher at Hogwarts who ever bestowed points on them, even if it was on the flimsiest of excuses.

"When they've earned them," replied Minerva stiffly. "But that has nothing to do with what I'd like Filius to weigh in upon." She turned in her seat and gestured to the Pensieve. "It's Harry's memory of the incident. I've some thoughts, as does Harry, but I'd like to hear your impressions. Pay attention to the woman in blue."

Knowing there were some subjects best left alone, Harry watched as Flitwick slid off his seat and made his way to the Pensieve. As he waited, he noticed a somewhat satisfied gleam enter Minerva's eyes, almost a twinkle, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt suddenly very much like a mouse who knows there's a cat right outside its hidey-hole and, for a brief minute, he wished he was half the Legilimens Snape had been.

"A Disillusionment Charm, and a rather exceptional one at that," exclaimed Flitwick as he climbed up into his chair. "Someone worked very hard not to be noticed. Did you notice you can't make out even the most obvious details? No height, no weight, neither witch nor wizard. Not even age."

"That would make sense," mused Harry. How was it that no one at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had come to that conclusion? The attacker hadn't been the only criminal in the history of ever to disguise his appearance, but in Harry's experience, the end result was someone whose image was a bit fuzzy 'round the edges, like a photograph that was slightly out of focus. "Did you recognise anybody?"

"You, certainly," chirped Flitwick. "Alice Koenig, Laurentia Forsythe, and Merida Rackharrow." His perpetual smile faded. "I do not know the man who pushed you down, Mr Potter, though he is certainly of an age where I should have done. I noticed no foreign accent, though his speech would put him squarely in the Midlands. I did notice he smelt rather strongly of murtlap. Or, rather, you noticed." Flitwick's grin re-emerged, this time a bit more knowing than the last.

Though Harry met Flitwick's gaze squarely, he still felt his cheeks grow warm. "I also noticed that he has dark blond or light brown hair, blue-grey eyes, is taller than I am, right-handed, and thin. I would also say he's stronger than he appears. From the lines around his eyes and mouth, I would guess he's in his early fifties, but with wizards it's hard to say. I could be off by as much as twenty years in either direction."

"Shall we invite Horace up to see?" asked Minerva. "If your gentleman is anybody of note, Horace would know him at once."

Harry shook his head vigorously. Ever since he'd been invited to his little soirees, Harry had had a strong aversion to Horace Slughorn that persisted even to this day. Though he'd never expressed his opinion, he hoped Slughorn would return to his quiet life of luxury and leave Hogwarts behind. That he would resent any Potions Master at Hogwarts had never entered his mind, but no matter who followed in Slughorn's footsteps, he or she would not be Snape.

"I would ask the members of the Potions Guild if they can identify the man. Someone who smells so strongly of common potions ingredients might work at an apothecary or is registered with the guild as a potioneer. It is unlikely that he attended Hogwarts. One of us would certainly have known who he is, but if he's brewing anywhere in Britain, one of the guild will certainly be able to provide you with his name."

It was an obvious lead and one that Harry had already asked Faye to follow. Still, he thanked Flitwick for the information about the Disillusionment Charm and spent the next forty-five minutes in conversation with Minerva and a certain portrait who only awoke when the conversation turned, as it inevitably did, to Harry's days as a student at Hogwarts. He bid everyone, both living and not, a pleasant evening and promising to see them all next week.

~*~

Markham and Faye spent the next week conducting interviews of those people whose names McGonagall and Flitwick had provided. Other than minor differences in account, their versions of the event at Flourish and Blotts were largely identical: shortly after Harry arrived one of the shoppers shouted his name, launched himself at Harry, and they both crashed to the floor with a resounding thud that echoed through the store. Even whilst his body (and that of his rescuer) was flying through the air curses, dark and malevolent, were streaming from the wand of the unknown assailant.

No one recognised the man who had kept Harry in one piece. No one could provide any sort of description for the person who was determined to wound Harry. Everyone agreed that the curses, whilst painful, were not lethal. No one had any idea why a stranger would attack Harry in the middle of the day. Consensus was that the person was a nutter. As for Harry's knight in woollen apparel, he must have a gift for Divination or was a bit prescient.

Harry wasn't so certain. For the next several weeks, he had the distinct impression he was being followed, but even after changing his route, doubling back, staring into reflective surfaces whilst out and about—in short, employing every detection method taught during Auror training—he never saw any unusual activity. He couldn't say that he hadn't spotted any unknown faces; in a city the size of London it would be impossible not to, but no one seemed to be paying him any undue attention. All he saw was the occasional lost tourist or people going about their business. Still, the feeling persisted, enough so that he asked Hermione to check him over for tracking charms.

September bled into October, the days growing shorter, the nights colder. Leaves began to fall from trees to spin and chase along the chill breezes that swept through the city. Skies were more leaden than not, erasing all thoughts of a warm summer just past. Harry's life settled back into its dull routine: summaries and reports interrupted from time to time by heart-racing encounters with the occasional miscreant or Dark wizard. Upon becoming an Auror it hadn't taken Harry long to discover that for every one Antonin Dolohov there were ninety-nine Mundungus Fletchers, which meant he spent much more time tracking down stolen silver than catching someone engaged in any sort of organised crime.

During those three weeks Faye and Markham made no progress on Harry's case. Per Robards, as the presumed victim he was forbidden by departmental policy from working on the investigation. With no new leads to follow and nothing resembling a motive to guide them, Robards decided it was just someone wanting to test his mettle against the great Harry Potter. Now that it was out of his system, it was unlikely Harry would be bothered again. The file went over to Unsolved Cases and that was that.

Privately, though, Harry believed that this was more a beginning than an end to things. As an Auror, his schedule was fairly predictable. He had areas to patrol, crimes to investigate, people to interview, and evidence to gather. But at least the _Prophet_ was no longer reporting with breathless abandon his every move.

"And one more thing," announced Williamson near the end of one afternoon's briefing in late October. "We've heard whisperings that someone is trying to bring in some Gympie-Gympie nettles from the Antipodes. Deadliest plant in the world, that is, and word is that a single nettle will eat your skin clean off. Naturally, the Ministry expect us to find out who's bringing it in and, more important, why, so if you end up having to question anybody, ask 'em what they might have heard about someone havin' a need for something like this."

"I'll ask up at Hogwarts," volunteered Harry. "I reckon Professor Sprout might know what someone would want with a plant like that."

"Or Neville Longbottom, being that he's one of the Heroes," suggested Kit Mergenthaler, one of the older Aurors in the squad, and one that Harry particularly liked. "And ask Slughorn, too. Yes, I know, lad," he added as Harry grimaced. "But he is knowledgeable about, well, the dodgy stuff."

"Don't I know it," muttered Harry, not best pleased at the thought of having even a single conversation with the man, though he did manage to be cordial on his weekly visits to the castle. "But you're right. It's likely he'll know something."

~*~

At Harry's request, Minerva McGonagall invited all of the Heads of House up to her office after supper on the first Friday of November so that he could speak to them all at once rather than conduct individual conversations with each of them in turn. Unusually, Dumbledore's portrait was wide awake, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Good evening, Harry. I must say it's delightful to see you here in your official capacity. I always knew you'd be one of the Department's best, and I can't help but wonder what brings you to Hogwarts tonight." Dumbledore seemed almost giddy at the prospect of a thorny problem to be resolved and Harry realised that the life of a portrait must get very dull indeed.

"What makes you think this is an official visit, sir?" asked Harry as he seated himself between Neville and Minerva, forming a bit of a squadron of Gryffindors set against the other three Houses. He took the cup of tea proffered by Neville and grinned in delight at the splash of brandy added to it.

Dumbledore arched a brow. "I've listened in on most of your visits with Minerva—"

"Ha! I knew you weren't sleeping," crowed Harry.

"Yes, yes. It was very clever of you to notice that I joined your conversations once I had something in particular to say," chided Dumbledore, though his smile was one of fatherly pride. "But this is the first time in a very long while you've asked for all of the Heads to join you. It's well done of you, Harry."

Harry squirmed a bit and busied himself with his fortified tea. His courtesy merely masked a desire to avoid Slughorn, but now his conscience pricked him at hearing Dumbledore's praise. "We don't even know if there's a problem yet," he said. "All we have at this point is a rumour, but it's one where we've no idea what it might even mean."

"Whatever you need, mate," said Neville. "If nothing else, it's nice to be remembered."

"Precisely," said McGonagall. "To most of the Ministry, in fact, to most witches and wizards, we're nothing more than a group of teachers rather than experts in our fields. We might not be Unspeakables, but at the very least we can give you the broad strokes of almost any subject enough to be going on with."

"And if we can't," added Slughorn, "why, it's very likely that we'll know someone who knows even more. I've kept up with—"

"Many of your students, yes, I know," interrupted Harry. "And if you know of any experts I should speak with, I'd be happy to learn their names." There was no point in asking Slughorn about anybody he perceived as ordinary. No, Slughorn only bothered with the names of those who could become important someday.

"Wonderful! Why, I still have a list of students as long as your arm who would like to join my little club." Slughorn beamed before selecting the plumpest pear tartlet for himself. "But please, ask away." He spooned a bit of clotted cream onto the rim of his plate and settled into the business of enjoying his pudding.

"Very well," said Harry. He took a deep breath and his eyes swept around the small gathering. "There's a witch in Knockturn Alley who keeps us informed of anything that might be of interest to the Ministry. She's let her usual contact know that arrangements are being made to bring in something dangerous from Australia. It's a plant called, umm…" Harry sifted through his pockets for the scrap of parchment that held his notes. "Himpie Glimpie, or something like that."

Pomona snorted as Neville stared wide-eyed at Harry. "Do you mean Gympie-Gym—"

There was a sudden crash accompanied by the tinkle of broken china as Slughorn's dessert plate slipped from nerveless fingers and smashed against the stone hearth of the fireplace. "Oh. Oh dear. How clumsy of me," he exclaimed with a shaky laugh. He pulled his wand and vanished the mess. He added a liberal splash of brandy to his teacup and selected another confection from the tray. As he settled back into his chair, his eyes darted around the group as though evaluating the effectiveness of his own performance.

Flitwick brushed away some bits of pastry that had splashed up on his legs. Harry's eyes narrowed in thought, though he gave Slughorn a tight, forgiving smile when he met the professor's gaze.

"Anyway, it's called Gympie-Gympie and it's pretty horrible, actually. Supposedly, it's worse by far than the Cruciatus Curse and its sap is deadlier than basilisk venom." Neville's brow furrowed as he exchanged a look with Pomona Sprout. "It's a Muggle plant, isn't it?"

"Aye, that it is, lad, though I can't work out why anyone would want to try to bring it here." Sprout stroked her chin and stared into her cup as she thought. "Have any Firewhisky, Minerva? This problem needs something stronger than brandy to sort out."

A bottle floated across the room and a few teacups changed into small tulip-shaped glasses. "Pour some for everybody," said Minerva. A tin of shortbread shoved aside the teapot which jostled the tiered dessert platters. Moving more quickly than Harry imagined, Slughorn snatched a small stack of ginger biscuits out of the air and returned them to the tray.

Once the Firewhisky had been distributed, Sprout gave them all a short lecture on the properties and uses of the Gympie-Gympie plant. As far as Harry could tell, it had no redeeming characteristics and said so. "Which leaves the question, why bring it in at all?"

After a protracted silence, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Whilst there might not be any ordinary uses for such a plant, we must turn our attention to uses that are extraordinary. Are there any _magical_ uses to which this plant could be put? Any rituals it could be used for? Any poisons it could intensify?"

Slughorn's cup rattled against his saucer, drawing Harry's attention again, but he refused to meet Harry's questioning gaze. Before he could ask anything, however, Flitwick spoke. "I can't say I know for certain, but there are some venomous plants—is that the word, venomous?"

"Toxic, Filius," said Pomona. "We say a plant is toxic. Venom is usually used for spiders and snakes. Things that bite."

"But there are a few plants with teeth, or something akin to them," said Neville, "though I don't think any of them would be called venomous. Not like your aconites or snakewoods, anyway."

"Thank you, Pomona. Neville," said Flitwick with a beaming smile. "Anyway, Trimble's treatise states there are a few plants that are used in rituals to create several Dark creatures. It's even been posited that vampirism is the result of ingesting some sort of plant. Over time, it became contagious, spreading in the same manner as lycanthropy.

"What sort of Dark creatures are we talking about?" asked Harry, if for no other reason than to spare himself advanced tuition on poisonous plants.

"Dementors, for one. Inferi for another," said Flitwick.

Slughorn blanched. Harry went positively white. "I can't say I'd ever want to meet anybody who had a desire to create an Inferius. To reanimate a corpse…" For a brief moment, Harry was back in the cave, pale thin hands reaching for him, their icy fingers making his blood run cold. Tendrils of flame whipped past him, nearly igniting his clothes. A log fell and sent up a shower of sparks. He flinched hard.

Harry opened his eyes to see Slughorn dabbing at colourless lips with a handkerchief. Beads of sweat dotted his brow though the fire was nowhere near blazing. Harry had witnessed that sort of behaviour from Slughorn before, years and years ago when Harry was seeking information about an altered memory and Slughorn went out of his way to avoid speaking to him.

"You know this plant," accused Harry. "And after everything, you still don't want to tell us what you know. You'd rather hide behind the accomplishments of your students, be thought of as a kind and benevolent sponsor, rather than be seen for what you are—the very worst sort of coward."

The silence was very nearly deafening. Slughorn turned as red as a beet whilst the others squirmed uncomfortably. All but Minerva. "That's quite the accusation to level against a teacher as well-respected as Horace Slughorn," she said, her voice clipped. "Have you any evidence of this cowardice?"

Undaunted, Harry levelled an accusing stare. "The night of the battle. I heard you ask Slughorn to choose."

"And, to his credit, he did. He joined the fight, Mr Potter. He helped buy you the time necessary to complete the errand Albus had given you. That alone should earn him an apology." She turned her steely eyes on Slughorn, who had shrunk so deep in his chair he was very nearly part of it. If she was disappointed by his demeanour, she hid it well.

"I'll apologise if he tells me everything he knows about this Himpie-Gimpie thing without my having to take him to the Ministry and subject him to questioning under Veritaserum. I have the authority to do that if I must."

A spark of bravery stiffened Slughorn's spine, but it was very nearly snuffed out the moment he met Harry's eyes. "Very well, Mr Potter, I'll tell you what I know of it, knowing you'll not allow me a moment's rest until I do. I've not forgotten how you hounded me the last time, sir, though I thought I had acquitted myself." He mopped his brow again. "It's always the little things. One would think they wouldn't matter because they're little, but they're always the bits that come back to haunt me."

"Then clear your conscience," said Harry in a warmer voice than he thought the professor warranted. "Otherwise, it will sit right under the surface and rankle until you can't escape it, no matter how hard you try." He poured a healthy measure of brandy into Slughorn's cup and waited. Over Slughorn's head, Harry saw Dumbledore's portrait wink, though he was pretty sure Snape's portrait had sneered at him. Or should have done.

They waited patiently whilst Slughorn sipped his brandy and gathered his resolve. "It was before Grindelwald's war when I became aware of them. Horcruxes," he said in a quavering voice. "I'd heard rumours, you see, of a house-elf accused of murder, and a family of Muggles sitting around a dinner table, dead.

"There was nothing in particular that connected those deaths with Tom. Tom Riddle. He was one of my very best students. So smart. So charming. Curious about everything. One wanted to help him, you know. He'd had such a tragic past. Orphaned the night of his birth. Growing up unloved, unwanted. Not even knowing he was magical. I was so happy to have him in my House. But he had asked me once about the Darkest of Magic and if I'd ever heard of…heard of…" His eyes darted around as though panicked.

"Everyone here knows of Horcruxes, Professor," said Harry. "Though, not everyone here knows what you had to do with them."

Slughorn's eyes widened. "I had nothing to do with them! Nothing at all." For a moment, he appeared deeply wounded and Harry's conscience pricked at him. "All I did was confirm that they existed."

"And how to create them," added Harry.

"Not in any more than the vaguest terms," protested Slughorn. "I said it required splitting one's soul and the only way to do that was by killing someone. That's _all_ we spoke about. They're horrible things. One of those things that should never have been invented."

Neville cleared his throat and took a sip from his cup. "How did you hear of them, Horace?"

"Goodness. It's been so long." Slughorn rested fingers on his chin and gazed into the fire. "There was an old book, a bit of a collector's item, I ran across at a shop very much like Borgin & Burkes whilst I was travelling abroad. I was barely in my twenties then, just finished an apprenticeship with an old Bulgarian master. He hoarded old recipes like one of the great dragons of old. I remember someone had once sent him a grimoire filled with the most horrible things imaginable. When I saw the old book in the shop, I wondered if it was the same one and flipped it open.

"It was an ill-tempered thing, with curses on it so thick one needed gloves to handle it. I still have a scar from where it tore off a bit of my finger." He pointed out a ragged scar on his right ring finger. "Of course, the proprietor came over and tried to interest me in it. Told me it held some of the darkest secrets he'd ever seen. He told me if I ever wanted to live forever, the book would show me how. That's where I learned of Horcruxes. The only reason I recalled the Gympie-Gympie being used for them is because I'd never heard of it before. So he demonstrated its potency on a newly hatched owl. It was the most awful thing I ever saw."

Pomona gasped. Minerva's hand clutched at her chest. "Surely not." Harry and Neville exchanged a speaking look. Both of them looked a bit green.

"I wondered about them from time to time, Horcruxes. Had no idea if anyone had actually created such a thing, but why would someone write it down if they hadn't worked out all the details? If they hadn't tested and refined the process?"

"That's the potioneer in you, Horace," said Flitwick. "Those of us who work in Charms usually start with the result and work our way backwards. Most of our magics are happy accidents, 'Oh look, I've Summoned a biscuit! How did I do that?' And we set about recreating the event, learning the intent and the movements until we can reproduce the spell at will. Once done, we pass the knowledge on to others."

Harry's brow furrowed. That was not his understanding of magic at all. "But I thought spell-crafters started with the outcome in mind and worked forward from there. I mean, if I wanted a spell that would alert me whenever a specific wand performed a—oh, I dunno, a cutting charm—I would ask the Committee on Experimental Charms to develop one for me. Whether it made it into common usage would be up to them, I suppose."

"I believe you'll find, Harry," said Minerva, "that each discipline of magic approaches the mysteries of creation in a different way. In Transfiguration, we explore possibilities. What can this thing become without destroying what it is? It is much easier to transfigure a rat into a teacup than a hippogriff into a teacup. Teacups lack a certain ferocity that hippogriffs have in abundance."

"And in Herbology, we spend a significant portion of our time making comparisons," added Pomona. "Why does this leaf work in a potion whilst this one, a botanical cousin, does not?"

"I'm certain everyone finds this all very interesting," said Harry before Pomona could go into any more detail, "but am I the only one concerned that someone out there might be attempting to create Horcruxes again?"

Neville shook his head. "No, we're just giving you a taste of some of our more invigorating faculty meetings in hopes that you'll finally accept the Defence Against the Dark Arts position Minerva's been offering to you for, oh, I dunno, the last ten years."

"I haven't been away from Hogwarts for that long!" said Harry with a pronounced roll of the eyes.

"And just how old do you think you are, Mr Potter?" asked Minerva, her tone acerbic.

Harry had the decency to blush.

~*~

During the briefing at the beginning of his next shift, Robards informed the Auror Corps of all Harry had uncovered at Hogwarts a few nights before. "The only use for this plant from Australia is the creation of the receptacle for Horcruxes. And as you might remember, a Horcrux requires a significant death. The problem, as I see it, is that the death must be important to the person creating the Horcrux. That makes it personal. That also means the target could be anybody."

"And what's the likelihood that it would be anybody but a Death Eater makin' one of these things?" asked Williamson.

"It's hard to say," said Benjamin Savage, an older Auror who had largely escaped notice during the second war. "Even after all this time, we still have a tendency to divide the world by dark and light. There's nothing to say that the sweetest, kindliest person we know is more afraid of death than of committing murder."

"But who else knows of Horcruxes?" argued Marcus Belby, an Auror who had started several years before Harry. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries were briefed in them, but that's it. Other than Kingsley Shacklebolt and us, no one knows of them."

"Ron and Hermione do," said Harry quietly. "And most of the staff of Hogwarts. They deserved to have their questions answered, and I couldn't have found and destroyed them without Ron and Hermione's help."

Robards nodded. "No one suspects them, Harry. There is no reason to think that any of your friends and colleagues would even glance down that path. No, it has to be someone who supported Voldemort during his reign. As much as I regret this, I believe we need to obtain Kingsley's permission to interrogate all of the known Death Eaters and their associates."

Harry's insides took a hard twist. Whilst he understood the necessity of questioning the families and friends of Voldemort's most loyal servants, he did not want to see this become another excuse to harass those associated with Slytherin House. He would never forget the betrayal of Peter Pettigrew; not every Death Eater was a Slytherin. "I think we should start with Voldemort's supporters from the first war," he said.

A low buzz filled the briefing room as Aurors reacted to Harry's statement. "They're going to think you're still protecting the Slytherins," hissed Faye under her breath. "You have to be careful, Harry."

"And people have to stop pointing in their direction first," whispered Harry. "They're not all bad."

"There's a reason they all think you're in love with a dead man."

"Shut it," snarled Harry under his breath.

"Do you care to explain your reasoning, Potter?" demanded Williamson.

Harry sat up. "They're older. They're seeing the world they knew vanish before their eyes. Half-bloods and the Muggleborn are being treated as well as purebloods. Werewolves and other magical beings are protected against discrimination. We've become accepting of differences within our world and they're still convinced that magic can be stolen." He glanced around the dingy room and found that the other Aurors were paying attention. "Someone who would go through all the trouble of making a Horcrux is facing his mortality and is refusing to accept the reality of his situation."

"And how old was Voldemort when he made his first Horcrux?" demanded Belby.

Some of the colour drained from Harry's face. "Fifteen."

On that note, the meeting ended.

~*~

Both Gavin Robards and Kingsley Shacklebolt decided that Harry should not take part in the investigations into the friends and families of former Death Eaters, despite Harry's vehement protests to the contrary. "You can't ignore the attacks on you in Diagon Alley and Trafalgar Square," said Kingsley.

"Nothing happened at Trafalgar," growled Harry, leaning forward in his chair and placing his laced hands on the table in front of him. "I told you then and I'll tell you now, Faye and I were called to Trafalgar because Nelson's lions were snarling at the tourists. We Apparated into the Tube station, mingled in with the foot traffic and crossed into the Square. A lady near one of the lions got a little panicky and ran into me—"

"Knocking you down, again," interjected Robards, "just as a Stunning Spell exploded right where you were standing, at which point your partner charged into the crowd and came very close to apprehending one Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin who just happened to attend Hogwarts at the same time you did. That's a bit much of a coincidence."

"And like I said at the time," argued Harry, "how would anyone know we would be the team sent to investigate? It was a crude animation spell and the Ministry wrote it off to some filmmaker's poor attempt at special effects or whatever. The lady apologised for running into me and that was that."

Kingsley looked sharply at Harry. "Did the lady say anything else?"

Harry shifted a bit in his chair and glanced at his hands. "Well, not in so many words," he hedged.

Robards took sudden interest. "And what precisely might that mean, Potter?"

Harry studied the portrait hanging over the fireplace in the Minister's office. He didn't know her name, but her cool blue eyes focussed on him with alarming intensity, making him feel unworthy somehow. "She seemed a bit, I dunno, watchful. She didn't get up straight away, like an ordinary person would, and her head was up, like she was paying attention to what was happening around her. She was properly embarrassed, though," he added. "Blushing and stammering and asking if I'd been hurt." And she smelled of amber and moonstone.

"What did Faye think of this? She is your partner, Harry, and she's supposed to watch your back, same as you're to watch hers."

Harry shrugged. "Faye didn't see anything, did she? She was off chasing the woman she thought had cast a spell. I'm not certain it was Bulstrode, though. Even she would know better than to perform magic in front of a crowd of Muggles."

As Harry looked on, Kingsley wandered about the office considering what he'd heard. Kingsley had seldom steered him wrong in the past and Harry had no reason to believe that he had anything other than Harry's best interests at heart. It was just that Harry hated being protected by people. He'd fought his own battles and emerged victorious, so why wouldn't they trust that he could do so again?

"Not necessarily. Do you recall the night the Ministry fell? It seems to me that there was a bit of duel in Muggle London, or am I mistaken?" Kingsley's dark eyes bored into Harry's. "I am concerned with the number of coincidences that are occurring. Two thwarted attacks in less than three months. This plant being smuggled in from Australia. Do you still suspect you're being followed?"

As much as Harry would have liked to deny it, he couldn't. "More than ever, actually."

"And you've been checked over for tracking spells?"

"By the Department of Mysteries and Hermione both. They didn't find anything." It must be a damn clever spell if Hermione couldn't find it and damn clever spells took time to craft. They weren't something an ordinary witch or wizard could work without being noticed. "Faye couldn't find anything either."

"Then my advice to you is to stay out of this. We have a full complement of Aurors for the first time in decades. We're very nearly to the point of being overstaffed. Let them question the suspects, but because I know you, I want you to read their reports. Flag for follow-up anybody whom your instincts tell you might be hiding something. I trust your judgement, Harry, though I suspect you find that hard to believe."

Harry had a hard time believing anything complimentary, but he couldn't say he respected Kingsley without backing up that assertion with action. "As much as I think you're making a mistake about this, I'll do what you ask. I'll stay out of the legwork if you can promise that my suggestions won't be written off."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Robards' face. "We won't ignore your recommendations, provided you can give us a bit more to work on than your suspicions. We will still require good police work from everybody if we're to get to the bottom of this."

~*~

The days crept by slowly. Harry and Faye were kept busy with their usual workload, though Harry now had the added bonus of reading through the interview reports of his fellow Aurors. Most of the time, he wondered how they'd ever passed Potions enough to qualify for Auror training. Snape would have bled red ink over every single one of their essays and these reports were worse. He wished so much that he could speak to Snape's portrait about them. Maybe Harry could even get the portrait to curl his lip in a facsimile of a smile. Minerva was a fair substitute, but Harry knew that Snape's wit would be much more entertaining. The man had a gift for invective.

The feeling of being watched intensified to the point where Harry was no longer certain if he was becoming paranoid or if he truly was being followed. Hermione had located two clumsy tracking charms and neutralised them, which made Harry feel a bit better, but he couldn't work out who was taking that much of an interest in him without having to admit he'd been wrong about being the target of someone's Horcrux fantasy. He just found it hard to imagine that anyone who knew Voldemort would want to become…that. The thing that had been resurrected in the graveyard was as loathsome and twisted a being as Harry had ever encountered.

Still, he had identified roughly a dozen suspects from reading the reports who should be interviewed again. Of those, three of them had made recent trips to Australia without being able to provide any reason for the journey apart from curiosity. One had claimed to attend an international Quidditch match between Ireland and Queensland, but no such match appeared on the fixtures. And she was an apothecary to boot.

Harry leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, and rubbed his eyes. No wonder Robards was always harping about the legibility of their reports. They weren't. Whilst Harry wasn't terribly fussed about grammatical errors despite years of tutelage from Hermione, spelling errors tended to frustrate him, and these reports were riddled with them. And half the time it was a matter of deduction to work out if the report was about the Auror or a suspect.

Letting the chair down with a thunk, Harry closed the folder and tossed it onto the stack of others sitting on his desk. It would be takeaway tonight, third time this week, but he was tired, his head was pounding, and by the time he cooked for himself, he'd be so hungry his appetite would have vanished.

He stepped into the Department's Floo and emerged moments later at St Pancras King's Cross. Seconds later, he was lost in a throng of Muggles heading toward the platform for the Northern line. Two stations later, he emerged and headed directly towards the Chinese place about halfway between the station and his flat. After receiving his food, he started for home.

Afterwards, Harry wouldn't able to say precisely what had happened. He recalled waiting for a taxi to go through before stepping into the zebra. Before he was halfway across, someone shouted his name, there was a screech of tyres, and when he turned around, the world went black.

~*~

Harry came awake with a hard jerk and he gasped audibly as he fought for air. The room was spinning in wild, looping circles and his head was throbbing. Off balance, he fought to get his feet under him only to discover he was hovering several feet above the floor and revolving in a slow circle. At least they'd left him his pants, whoever they were.

"Ah, you're awake." A spell hit him and he dropped suddenly, only to have his arms nearly jerked out of their sockets. His wrists burned and his fingers were numb. A quick glance upwards merely confirmed what he already knew: he was being suspended by a rope wrapped in a figure eight around both wrists.

On the next revolution, Harry spotted an elderly man he was quite certain he had never seen before, though something about the eyes and nose seemed vaguely familiar. "You've been rather difficult to catch, Mr Potter." The voice was tired and shaky, as if the effort of merely standing was almost too much. "I was afraid I was going to run out of time, but no matter. You're here now."

Harry tilted his head back and tried wriggling his wrists free, but all he managed was to burn and chafe the skin under the ropes. He kicked his legs to try to gather some momentum. It would give him nothing but satisfaction to knock the old man over and have him break a hip or something. "They'll catch you, you know. They always do." He kicked out with his feet, but the wizened old man was too far away.

"They always do," imitated the man in a high, whiny voice. "No, Potter, they don't. Some of us have the good sense to hide when fools from the Ministry start poking around. And now, since only a meaningful death will do..."

"You're wrong, you know," snarled Harry as he fought harder to swing closer to the man. "Any death will do. All this time wasted for naught. You could have had your Horcrux made ages ago."

The man grew still and his rheumy eyes grew hard. "Worked it out, have you?" he sneered as Harry stared helplessly at his wrists, his body still swinging like a pendulum. "No matter." He lifted his wand and pointed it at Harry with unsteady hands. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

With all his might, Harry drew his knees up as close to his forehead as he could manage as he screwed his eyes shut. He knew the spell wouldn't hurt, but he was in no hurry to leave this place. He still had dreams of companionship, of family and friends, of a worthy career and a meaningful life. The sickly green of the Killing Curse wobbled past, missing his arse by a fair margin. He peeked with one eye to find the man breathing heavily and clinging to a nearby wall for support.

A snarl curled the man's thin lips as he tottered over to a nearby chair. "I'd thought to give you an easy death, but there's more than one way to die." Breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling like a bellows, he aimed his wand with both hands. " _Diffindo_."

Harry hissed as a fire bolt of pain scored a jagged line from his left nipple to the right of his navel. Another spell wobbled from the elderly wizard's wand and a deep cut opened from the top of his right leg to just inside the knee as the wizard cackled with glee. Blood hot and thick gushed from both wounds, pooling in an ever-widening circle on the dark wood below him.

" _Tarantallegra!_ " The man cackled as Harry's legs danced uncontrollably and Harry stared, certain the old man had lost his mind. Seconds later, the purpose of the spell became painfully clear as the rope rubbed and chafed against his wrists, tearing away the delicate skin underneath, and more blood spurted with every kick of his feet. With his arms stretched over his head and his legs flailing, it was becoming harder and harder to breathe. He was spinning again, and as his backside turned towards his captor, Harry felt another burst of flame across his shoulders that informed him of his newest injury.

Another spell tore a scream from Harry's throat. It hit mid-back and Harry's twitching knees came up as his body tried to bend double. Spots danced in front of his eyes and he felt as if he was looking up from the bottom of a well.

"See? See?" The man tottered over to a nearby credenza and lifted something that must have been quite solid. He huffed and puffed as he placed it on the floor where Harry could still see it. It was a bust, about a foot tall, made of bronze, of a skull with its mouth opened wide. A snake crawled out of its mouth and wrapped itself in a figure eight that served as its spine. It was the Dark Mark. Another curse hit Harry hard just under his left armpit and he felt bone give way. Though his breath came in short, gasping pants, he screamed. He couldn't fill his lungs.

Suddenly, the walls were melting and long white ropes were sailing through the air. The room glowed green and a pale skeleton dressed in black appeared in front of him. "Help. Me," he moaned as his head lolled forward.

~*~

**Part II**

He was in a bed. That much he knew without opening his eyes, and Harry didn't want to do that. He inhaled, a slow deep breath that ended in a wracking cough whilst his abdominal muscles screamed in protest. A cramp seized his left hamstring, so vicious that he was afraid to exhale. Cautiously, he flexed his foot, but that only made things worse. Eyes still closed, he lay perfectly still until, bit by agonising bit, the muscle finally relaxed.

When the screaming in his head stopped, Harry began to take stock. Arms, okay. Legs, not so much. His right thigh was on fire, and his left leg was in open rebellion. Everything between neck and hips throbbed, waves of pain echoing the beats of his heart. His mouth was desert-dry; even his scalp hurt.

"Swallow this," said a familiar voice in soothing tones, and Harry _knew_ he must be hallucinating. Still, he complied and the brackish taste of pain reliever filled his mouth, followed by a desperately needed long drink of water. The pain eased almost instantly and he fell back into a deep, healing sleep.

It was nearly a full day before Harry woke again. The fire in the deep gashes had died to embers, though his back still ached and the slightest movement brought renewed agony to his entire left side. He blinked several times, staring at a blurry ceiling. There was an old-fashioned porcelain light fixture in the centre of the room and a water stain in the corner nearest the window. Gauzy ivory curtains hung from an iron rod. Maybe they were lace. Without his spectacles, Harry really couldn't tell. The bed was wide and surprisingly comfortable. Definitely not St Mungo's, then.

Long, thin fingers smoothed away a lock of hair and gently placed his glasses on his face. Harry turned his head and felt the blood drain from his face. Tears filled his eyes before he could make an abortive attempt to forestall them. They burned a path down his temples and into his hair as a ball of overwhelming emotion choked him. "You're dead," he whispered, forcing the words out. "I watched you die."

The man sitting in the chair next to the bed was lean, almost thin. Black hair shot through with silver hung down past his shoulders in ropes of loose waves, stark against the lily white of his shirt. His face held the merest suggestions of lines and his dark eyes were kind. He wore traditional robes, but they were open, something Harry had never thought to see in his lifetime.

"Not so dead as I would have you believe." There was a sorrowful note in Snape's voice and his eyes were filled with regret. "I wasn't ready to be alive again," he continued, parsing his words carefully, "and when I thought myself strong enough to step back into the world, I found my place had been taken up by your memories of me. My name cleared, my portrait at Hogwarts, awarded the Order of Merlin, albeit posthumously. Where, then, did I fit in?"

Guilt assailed Harry. Even whilst alive, Snape had never wanted fame. All he had wanted was recognition for his efforts. To be called brave. To be valued. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"You never do," chided Snape lightly. "But don't apologise. It's not warranted. I will let you know when you owe me an apology, but you don't. Not for this." He turned his attention to the collection of phials on the nightstand, his elegant fingers dancing over the small bottles until they found the one he wanted. He paused and gazed thoughtfully at Harry. "I offer you a choice. You may remain here until you're fully recovered, or I can take you to St Mungo's or to Hogwarts. Is Poppy still on staff there?"

Harry stared, his mind still racing, his heart still pounding. Snape was alive. It wasn't possible. Harry had watched the life drain out of him, along with his memories. He'd stood there, doing little more than dabbing some dittany on Snape's wounds and collecting the silvery thoughts in a bottle Hermione had provided to him. He'd granted Snape's last request and looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time. And Snape had looked at him with such love—for his mother.

"Are you a Healer as well?" croaked Harry.

"No," said Snape flatly. "But I am somewhat familiar with the basics. I can't make the scars go away. I can't be certain I can mend the bones properly, and I certainly can't grow your kidney back. But I can brew the potions you'll need and make certain you take them as required."

With all his heart, Harry wanted to remain, but he worried that Snape wouldn't be able to fix all the damage. There was so much about his saviour that he didn't know and needed to find out. How had Snape survived? Where had he been? How was he supporting himself? Who had abducted him? Who was the man who had tried to torture him to death? Was anybody looking for him? Ron and Hermione must be going out of their minds with worry. Even the Department of Magical Law Enforcement might be concerned. There had to be a middle road, one where he could get the care he needed and still remain here to recuperate. He had so many questions.

"Would you trust Pomfrey to treat me here? She's used to keeping secrets and I know she won't say anything to anybody. She can take the Floo to the Leaky and you can bring her here. If you've an owl, I can send her a message." Harry held his breath whilst Snape decided.

Snape scrubbed a hand over his chin and regarded Harry with a warm, steady gaze. He came to his feet and pulled his wand. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," he said with a broad sweeping movement of his wand. A gleaming white doe cantered once around the room and once again, Harry found himself fighting tears. "Give her your message and I'll send her on her way."

The doe stood next to the bed and bent her head over Harry who murmured to her for a moment. He glanced at Snape. "Where should I tell her to come? I don't know where I am."

Snape thought for a moment. "Tell her to look for a stranger in the Great Hall and that he can be trusted."

Harry complied quickly as the pieces began to fall into place. He had been rescued by strangers—and followed by strangers? The more he thought about it, the more probable it seemed, and he knew from experience that there were no side effects associated with long term use of Polyjuice Potion.

Before Harry could assault Snape with a barrage of questions, Snape said, "Is there anything you require before I take my leave of you? If not, I ask only that you remain in bed for my own peace of mind."

Harry shook his head as much as he dared. The mere thought of sitting up made him queasy. Too many parts ached and he was certain he would do irreparable harm to himself. No amount of curiosity—and there was loads to be curious about—could induce him to leave the comfort of this bed. "I'd like a bit more water, but nothing else. And you have my word that I won't even try to get up."

Snape was exceedingly gentle with him as he saw to Harry's comfort. During the twenty minutes he was away, Harry thought through everything he knew about the Horcrux case. Snape must have heard somehow that plans were afoot to create another Horcrux and assumed, as so many others did, that Harry would be the significant death the maker would require. He wished he knew how that particular rumour had started. The creation of a Horcrux required a death, but it didn't need to have any significance whatsoever. Hepzibah Smith's death had proven that. Nevertheless, Snape had taken it upon himself to prevent that from occurring.

The Snape of his childhood could brew Polyjuice Potion with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. Harry was relatively certain nothing had changed in that regard. But where was Snape working? Was he working? Where was he getting his ingredients? More important, where was he acquiring the bits of humans Polyjuice required? It unnerved Harry to think that Snape had a collection of people parts tucked away somewhere. It seemed weirdly fetishistic somehow. But he would bet his last Galleon that Snape, in the guise of different people, had made a career out of following him.

The more Harry considered, the more his head ached, but there was no question so pressing that it couldn't wait. His eyes drifted around the small, tidy room as he slowed his breathing. A pair of sash windows directly across from the bed revealed fat flakes of snow drifting lazily from the sky. The plaster walls, so pale a blue they were very nearly white, were cracked in places, but were free of cobwebs and dust. A simple wardrobe occupied most of the wall to Harry's left. To his right was the beside table and a simple straight-back chair, with the door in the corner nearest the bed. A radiator hissed, but Harry couldn't see it from his vantage point.

The door creaked open and Poppy Pomfrey poked her head in, her eyes wide with alarm. Harry gave her a crooked smile. "Sorry to call you away from Hogwarts, but I seem to have run into a curse or two." Behind her stood the man from Flourish and Blotts. The colour faded from Harry's face as his eyes met the stranger's. "I know you know who I am, but I didn't catch your name the last time we met."

"I'm Phillip Sims," said Snape as Poppy rushed in, wand at the ready. A smile that was nearly a grimace met Harry's. "I'm afraid there wasn't time for a proper introduction when we met at the book shop."

Poppy's wand flicked and swished and swooshed and danced its way down Harry's body. As she examined him, her lips got tighter and thinner until they all but disappeared. "Did you do this?" she demanded as she whirled. "This is horrible work. A first year Healing Arts student could have done better and they know nothing! Why didn't you take him to St Mungo's? Surely you noticed how badly injured he was?"

Sims took a step back. "I—"

Poppy's eyes narrowed. "I've been the mediwitch at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years. I don't recall ever having seen you before. Harry, who is this man? How do you know him?"

"I—" Harry's gaze grew panicked. "It's a long story."

"Well, you're in for a rough go of it, I'm afraid." Poppy drew a deep breath and raised her wand, only to lower it again when she caught sight of the array of potions sitting next to the bed. She snatched one up and examined the phial, her brow furrowing. Confused, she worked out the cork and wetted a fingertip with the contents, and then rubbed fingertip and thumb together. She gave the potion a sniff before dabbing a bit on her tongue. "Where did you get these?" she demanded in a low, threatening voice that shook Harry to the core. He'd seen many faces of Poppy Pomfrey over the years, but this one was utterly new.

Sims drew himself to his full height. "I made those. I am a fully qualified brewer and before you ask, I took instruction at Borealis Academy in Canada."

Poppy's wand was steady. "I know these phials. Harry, this man is an imposter." Before Sims could react, the tip of her wand flicked and he was bound shoulders to knees in strong ropes. "What would you like me to do with him?"

The expression on Sims' face was so furious, so Snape-like, that it took inhuman effort not to laugh, but knowing how much it would hurt to do so contributed mightily to Harry's efforts. "He's not a threat. I can promise you that," Harry managed. He sensed another cramp building and he gasped a bit, just enough to draw Poppy's attention back to her patient.

Despite her suspicions, Poppy relented and cancelled the spell, freeing Sims from the ropes that held him. "I may need your assistance," she grumbled, "despite how deplorable your spell work is. But, if this is truly your work," her voice indicated that she believed otherwise, "then it would seem you do know Potions." She rattled off a list of potions she would need and demanded that a message be sent to Hogwarts informing the Headmistress she would be away from her post much longer than anticipated.

The next twenty-four hours were among the worst of Harry's life. Whilst Snape's healing spells had kept him from bleeding to death, they had done little to prevent infection and very nearly nothing to repair the damage beneath the skin. The Burn Paste had worked on his wrists, but Snape hadn't thought to check for further injury. Both shoulders were damaged and both wrists were sprained. To Harry's relief, the kidney that Snape had thought missing was ruptured instead and responded to Poppy's efforts. All of the cuts needed to be reopened though, and rather than be placed in a healing trance, Harry elected to stay awake.

That might have been a mistake, Harry admitted afterwards. The Severing Charm had cut through him like a cleaver through meat and about as swiftly. Poppy's work was slow and deliberate, following the ribbon of scar tissue from end to end, healing what lay underneath and repairing the wound afterwards. The worst part was being rolled over so she could work on his back. When she moved him, Harry could not keep from crying out and he shed copious tears as she worked.

In his guise as Sims, Snape soothed him and comforted him and allowed Harry to crush his hand when the pain grew too much to bear. He washed away the tears and snot, cooled his sweaty brow, and ran his hand over Harry's head as he murmured encouraging words in Harry's ear. And Harry was lost. His heart filled with love for this solitary man who, even now, stood guard over him and protected him and nourished his soul.

At long last, it was time for Poppy to work on Harry's left side. "Five ribs are shattered, three are broken. There are bone fragments in your spleen, your lungs, and your diaphragm. There may be others I've not yet found. I can do one of two things," she informed him. "I can remove the ribs on your left side and you can spend the next day re-growing them. Or I can coax together all the pieces and fragments and you can spend the next day knitting them together. Either way, it means Skele-Gro and I'm certain you've not forgotten the taste of that."

Harry groaned. Out of all the potions he'd consumed over the years, that one still ranked as the most vile concoction he had ever swallowed. He'd rather Polyjuice himself into Voldemort than drink Skele-Gro. "Which do you think is best?"

Poppy expression grew sympathetic. "Vanishing everything and starting anew. It's the more painful treatment, but that way I can be certain I've got everything." Her eyes hardened as she looked at Sims. "It will be a very long night for you, Mr Sims. You must make absolutely certain he doesn't move until his ribs grow back. His organs will be unprotected until they do. If you must leave the room, you must put him under a medical Body Bind until you return. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've left a number of times already."

Harry winced, hoping she hadn't worked out the reason Sims had made several trips downstairs. He'd had good excuses, using the loo, fixing tea, bringing up some food, but the trips had been hourly, or nearly so. Still, Poppy had been busy and her mind focussed on Harry so there was hope. He turned eyes clouded with pain on Poppy. "Vanish them. I trust him to look after me."

Poppy glared at Sims before she commenced her work. She cast her spell twice, scanned him, and spoke the incantation for a third time before she was satisfied that she had found every sliver of bone hiding in Harry's insides. Then the first of several phials of Skele-Gro was pressed into Harry's hand and she stood over him whilst he swallowed.

Once finished, she left a long list of instructions for Sims to follow and reviewed them with him step by step. "And that means watching him 'round the clock," she concluded. Before taking her leave, she turned and faced the two of them. "I've no idea what is happening here, but I don't take kindly to being played for a fool. It's clear to me that there is a familiarity between you that should not exist, given that Harry didn't even know your name." She marshalled her courage, met Sims' gaze straight on, and spoke in a quavering voice. "Break his heart, Mr Sims, and you'll have me to answer to."

Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks and the unwelcome sensation of shame flooded through him. "You've nothing to worry about, Poppy. I'm as far from his type as it's possible to get. Wrong parts."

She shook her head despairingly. "You're every bit the fool Minerva believes you to be." Turning her attention back to Sims, she added, "With your permission, I'll be back tomorrow to see if he needs any further treatment."

Sims nodded his head. "I will collect you in the Great Hall at four o'clock." She departed—Harry could only assume she had Apparated back to the castle—and they were left alone. Any conversation between them would have to wait, though; Harry was in agony as the potion began to take effect.

When Sims stepped out of the room as the Polyjuice wore off and returned as Snape, Harry was relieved beyond measure. During the worst moments, he was afraid he had hallucinated the Potions Master, especially since Sims was such a calming presence. But having Snape by his side was familiar: the greasy hair, the overly large nose, the coffee-dark eyes, the deft, sure hands, the sharp tang of potions ingredients that always seemed to cling to his robes. They spelled home for Harry in a way few other things had.

~*~

Despite Poppy's instructions to the contrary, Snape was dozing lightly when Harry awoke from a nap, but startled into full wakefulness the moment Harry yawned. It was late evening as far as Harry could tell. Remains of Snape's supper sat near the vast array of potions Poppy had requested, but the few bits of food that remained still appeared fresh.

"I trust my momentary lapse will remain between us," said Snape sharply and then yawned, which spoiled any authoritative air he was attempting to project. He turned down the lamp near the bed and the room was bathed in soft orange light. Pulling his wand, he sent his dishes down to the kitchen.

Harry watched his every move, his eyes soft. "I don't snitch. Not now, not ever, especially when I've been asked not to. Anything you say to me stays between us. Not even Ron and Hermione will know anything you don't want me to tell."

Snape held his gaze and leaned so close that his elbows rested on the bed. "There's so much I want to know about you," said Harry, but he noticed the dark circles under Snape's eyes. "This can wait. You must be exhausted."

"No, Potter, this can't wait. Poppy was right, you know."

Harry's brow furrowed and his eyebrows knitted together. "About the familiarity? I'm pretty certain I told you I'd keep your secrets. Besides, they're not mine to tell. As for the other…" Harry felt himself pulling back and he schooled his features into one of practised disinterest. "I'll do my best not to offend your sensibilities. Far too many blokes get a bit twitchy around people like me who like the same bits they have."

Snape rocked back in his chair. His dark eyes nearly bugged out in surprise. "I must remember to mark this down in my diary: the day a Potter was concerned about offending my sensibilities. And what of yours? Are they as delicate as you assume mine to be?"

"Mine?" Harry blinked. "Am I supposed to be—"

He never had an opportunity to finish that sentence. Snape swooped over him, framed his face between slender, graceful hands, and pressed warm lips against Harry's. They moved slowly, teasing, taunting, tantalising Harry into parting his. The tip of Snape's tongue gave slow exploration to the seam of Harry's lip and Harry gasped, his heart leaping into double-time. Sliding his hand behind Snape's neck, Harry tilted his head and responded willingly, meeting kiss with kiss until he was breathless and his head was spinning.

"Do you understand now why Poppy was not wrong?"

Still breathing hard, Harry brought his fingers to his trembling lips. He had at least three days of stubble, locks of greasy hair clung to his skull, and he'd kill for a bath, but he couldn't recall a single moment in his life when he felt more desired. "I-I-I…" All Harry could do was shake his head and stare at Snape's kiss-swollen lips. "But, my mo—"

"Mention your sainted mother and I will spend the next hour interrogating you about your beloved Ms Weasley." Snape's lips curled into a sneer that was still painfully familiar, even after all these years. Harry believed him. "I'm bent, Potter. As queer as a brass Galleon, as the saying goes. But it wasn't worth the trouble such an admission would create, so very few people in my life were allowed to know."

"Were?" asked Harry. "Or are?" Harry wouldn't go so far as to say he was closeted, but he wouldn't say he was out, either. The only people in his life who knew of his sexuality were those with a reason to know, and all were willing guardians of that secret. He was comfortable in his skin, if a little lonely in his personal life, but he had no complaints about either.

Snape yawned and for a moment, his eyes lingered longingly at the bed. Harry patted the vacant space beside him. With a little rearrangement, there was more than room enough for two. Snape removed his outer robes and shoes, moved Harry as gently as possible, and stretched out next to him. "Are, I think," he said finally. "Do you really think that a man who is believed to be dead would be forthcoming about his private concerns?"

"I'm not forthcoming about mine, either. My name's in the _Daily Prophet_ enough, thanks. I know the wizarding world is supposed to be accepting about such things, but…" Harry's voice trailed off. "I'd rather not be the first one out of the gate."

"Do you truly think they don't know?" asked Snape as he settled deeper into the bed. He blinked a few times, each one a bit slower than the last, and Harry knew the man was exhausted. "Even I've heard the rumours, how you've no social life to speak of, how you don't—" He yawned again and his eyes glittered with the tears a deep-seated need for rest can bring. "Don't date witches."

Harry rested his cheek on the pillow next to Snape's and inhaled the sharp tang of murtlap and dittany. He smelled just like the man at Flourish and Blotts. "Go to sleep, Sev. I'll wake you if I need anything."

"Name's Severus." Snape's breath rumbled out in a quiet purr. "But you can call me Sev." Snape renewed the medical Body Bind charm on Harry and then his eyes fluttered shut. A few minutes later and Harry was certain Snape was asleep.

As much as Harry itched to get back to work, he was in no condition to leave. Now that he was no longer wracked with pain, he could actually think, but to his surprise, he discovered he didn't really want to do that. For the moment, he was content to lie quietly next to Snape and watch him sleep, watch the lines of worry slowly start to fade.

"So who are you?" he murmured, wishing he could reach over and touch the sleeping man. "How many times have I crossed you in the street without seeing it was you?" Harry, who had carved out such a large space in his life to make room for Snape's memory, was thrown into a state of confusion knowing that Snape had survived. "Why didn't you reach out to me? Surely you must have known you'd be welcome." As if in response, Snape snuffled and snorted and went back to his deep, rumbling purr.

Warm and comfortable, Harry left his mind drift as he stared up at the ceiling, replaying the kiss over and over. He dozed a bit, a series of short catnaps that inevitably ended whenever Snape reached for him or curled around him in his sleep. Harry assumed it was heat Snape sought. He wondered where his wand was. And his clothes, for that matter. How nice it would be if Snape were keeping them safe for him, he thought. Funny how he'd not thought about either until now.

~*~

Harry wasn't certain when he fell asleep, but he assumed he must have done when the door snicked open and woke him up. Snape stood in the doorway with a tray filled with an assortment of breakfast items, but the mere scent put Harry's stomach off. Harry declined both food and tea, but gratefully accepted a goblet of pumpkin juice tucked away at the edge of the tray.

"I recall your fondness for it from your schoolboy days," said Snape stiffly as he propped Harry up with some pillows and released him from the mild curse. He sat in the wooden chair and began to pick over the food Harry declined. He settled on a toasted muffin and buttered it.

Harry looked at Snape over the rim of the glass as he swallowed. "I didn't know you were paying that much attention to me unless you were looking for some way to get me in trouble." He snorted. "Trouble found me whether I was looking for it or not. Can't say much has changed in that regard." Harry drained the goblet and handed it back. "Anyway, can we talk about what happened? I know you've been following me. What I don't know is why."

"You really are that thick. I was following you to keep you out of trouble, but it's too fond of you to be warded off by the likes of me." Snape set the goblet aside and rubbed his eyes with his fists the way a toddler would. Harry found it charming. He stretched out his long legs and lay back in the chair, much too tired to maintain the façade of politeness. "I will tell you what I know.

"Wizards truly are a stupid lot, Potter. Despite living in a world where little is as it seems, they are more than happy to accept blindly what they see in front of them. I work, and have been working, at a small apothecary at the dodgy end of Knockturn Alley."

"And which end would that be?" asked Harry. "In my experience, the entire street is dodgy."

Snape took a bite from his muffin. "Do you know the Grimpen Mire?"

"The pub across from Thestrals?" Thestrals was Knockturn's answer to Eeylops and sold the types of creatures Harry tended to avoid: rats, serpents, Streelers, scarabs. The sorts of animals that made their way into potions. They had a few owls for sale as well, but they were generally an ill-tempered lot with a penchant for biting. "I've been in it a few times, usually to meet up with informants."

Snape's brow furrowed and Harry wondered if he'd missed the point. "Its clientele is not purely Slytherin," replied Snape between bites and waited a beat to see if Harry would reply. He didn't. "But my shop is quite nearby. With a proper wig and costuming, I don my disguise and spend my days beneath notice. Afterwards, I have a pint at the Mire, listen to the gossip of the day, contribute accordingly, and, once done, make my way home.

"Sometime around the end of July, I noticed a number of purchases that taken individually meant nothing, but when combined meant that someone had found a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ and was embarking upon another ill-considered quest for immortality. I began to listen more intently and, from time to time, steered the gossip in the direction in which I wanted it to go. It did not take me long to discover that plans were being made to ensnare the great hero of the wizarding world, the Boy-Who-Lived himself."

"Would you please not call me that? I hate that name."

Snape arched a brow and smiled knowingly. "Would you prefer the Boy-Who-Lived-Again? The Chosen One?" He sipped his tea.

"I prefer Harry, thanks. Especially from you."

"Very well, Harry." The tone was not mocking; it was very nearly affectionate. "I made lists of the purchasers and inquired of several of my brethren if they'd sold a few necessary ingredients I claimed not to have. And then rumours of a need for Gympie-Gympie began to be whispered about."

"Why didn't you go to the Ministry about it? That stuff is on a dozen lists in any number of departments. The Herbology board is adamant that it not be brought in. Even the Department of Mysteries want nothing to do with it."

"What makes you think I haven't?" demanded Snape. "I wrote the Ministry near the end of August under the name of Joan Carpenter to tell them that there was a plot on your life and to keep watch on you, but knowing that the Ministry has all the subtlety of a bellowing minotaur, I took it upon myself to keep watch on someone who was becoming a fairly regular patron of my shop. As it turns out, she was keeping watch on you."

"She?" Harry shook his head. "We all thought it was a bloke." He watched as Snape Banished the breakfast tray to the kitchen.

"More than that, she was a year mate of yours. One Daphne Greengrass." Snape bared his teeth in some sort of triumphant smile.

Harry added up everything he knew about Daphne Greengrass, arrived at zero, and shook his head. "It can't be her. First, her sister is married to Draco Malfoy and Malfoy has worked too hard to clear the family name, almost to the point of obsession. Second, Daphne works full time at the Broom Regulatory Control. It's impossible for her to follow me as much as I've been followed since the start of September. Third, she's engaged to a Healer trainee at St Mungo's. I'll check with Faye, but I seem to recall that the wedding is at the solstice. She doesn't have time to plan a wedding and my murder both. Lastly, her family doesn't have any ties to Voldemort or the Death Eaters, and that lot are the only ones stupid enough to want to make a Horcrux. You have to have the wrong person."

As Harry spoke, the furrows in Snape's brow grew deeper and deeper. "How do you know all this?"

"I'm an Auror, Sev. It's what we do." Harry chuckled as Snape rolled his eyes. "We've been interviewing all the known associates of the Death Eaters. Kingsley kept me out of the investigation, but wanted me to read all the interviews to see if I picked up on anything."

"And?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, not wanting Snape to feel under suspicion with his next question. "How would I go about discovering if there's been an increase in the amount of boomslang skin being purchased?"

" _You_ would check with the apothecaries, all 112 of them. _I_ , on the other hand, would ask the supply houses, all two of them." Snape laughed lightly as Harry blushed. "But speaking as someone who both uses boomslang skin and purchases it in bulk for my own business, I can tell you that it has been in short supply lately. It would appear that Polyjuice Potion is being brewed in bulk—and not just by me."

"But the man in Flourish and Blotts wasn't under Polyjuice," argued Harry. "He was under a Disillusionment Charm."

"And you know as well as I do that Polyjuice takes a month to brew," replied Snape. "It may be that this person hadn't enough time to complete the potion before making her first attempt to capture you."

"You're still convinced it's a woman?"

"In my experience, Harry, very few men are willing to transform themselves into women, and I've seen Ms Greengrass in enough places where she ought not to be that, coupled with the report you just supplied, I am convinced someone is using Polyjuice to become her for long enough periods of time to cast suspicion in her direction."

"To turn her into a suspect, you mean," said Harry with a grin. His smile faded and he blew out a breath. "I need to get back to the office. I want to see who has avoided being questioned. I'm also trying to remember who besides Draco was in my sixth-year Potions class."

"Granger and Weasley, certainly," said Snape dryly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "And neither of them are trying to kill me. Where did you find me, by the way? And how? Did you know the man? I've never seen him before, though there was something a bit familiar about him."

"I've no idea who he was or where you had been taken, though I suppose I could find it again if I must. As for how…" A gleam entered Snape's eyes as he rose from the chair. He leaned forward, removed Harry's glasses, and scratched away something underneath the temple before handing them back. "Powdered bloodstone, saliva, and Acromantula venom, which, as you might know, has adhesive properties. I suppose the Ministry would classify it as Dark magic since the spell requires blood to work, but as long as that bit of goo remained adhered to your glasses, I could always find you."

Though Harry hated to admit it, he was impressed with Snape's creativity. "A scrying spell. And since you were tracking a bit of yourself, you managed to stay on the right side of the law, technically speaking."

"The best sort of right, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry chuckled and promptly winced as pain shot through his left side. He tilted his head back, stayed as still as possible and tried to remember how to breathe. He sipped down tiny gulps of air, each breath as shallow as he could make it until the pain faded. "Yes," he gasped. "The best sort."

Snape checked the time and considered Poppy's list of instructions. "It's a bit early for the pain reliever, but we've been talking for a fair bit of time. I think you can stand another dose and the rest will do you some good." He deliberated for a moment, then chose a flask from the back row of potions bottles and measured out a portion. Once Harry was able to lift his head without grimacing, he supported Harry's shoulders enough for him to swallow the brew.

It was green and tasted a bit fruitier than most of the potions Harry was familiar with. He arched a brow as he lay back. "That wasn't on the list, was it?"

Snape busied himself with organising the tray of potions and took a moment to respond. "Technically, no. It's not on the list. However, it combines two potions that are on the list into a single dose that works more efficiently in your system."

"So, technically speaking, it's still on the list." Harry shook his head as his eyes started to close. "Very clever, that. You're still the best sort of right, you know. Impressive." For a moment, he struggled to keep his eyes open, but they fell closed as Snape removed his spectacles. His last sensation was being placed under a light spell that would prevent him from rolling over in his sleep. Then darkness took him.

~*~

The sun was low in the western sky when Harry emerged from sleep. A bit of a thrill sparked through him when he discovered that Snape was stretched out on the bed next to him reading a book. "Is it a good book?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

"Ah, you're awake," replied Snape as he marked his page and set the book aside. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd given you too much potion, but I suspect you needed the rest." He handed Harry his glasses before he had a chance to ask for them. 

"Thanks." Harry slipped them on and blinked. He stretched once Snape had cancelled the spell that kept him from moving in his sleep. Harry understood the necessity of it, but it made his muscles stiff. He stretched as much as his body would allow and felt much better.

Harry's eyes searched Snape's face. "Can I ask you something?"

"You may ask me anything you wish," rumbled Snape as he stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He laced his fingers and rested them on his stomach as he gave Harry his attention. "I believe that, from this point forward, we should refrain from keeping secrets from each other unless requested to do so by others." As if reading Harry's mind, he continued. "What I mean is I will answer any question you ask about me, but I will not share secrets I hold about others."

"Excellent clarification," said Harry with a mild grin. "You really should consider a career in teaching." Harry couldn't help but laugh at the expression that resulted. It hurt. "How did you survive Nagini? I truly can't understand how you're still alive."

"Feel free to jump straight in, why don't you?" Snape's hand went to his neck and he fingered the silvery scars, barely visible now that the years had passed. "In truth, I have no idea. The last thing I remember was looking into your eyes, wishing you didn't have those wretched glasses so that I could see them properly. The next thing I knew, I was lying under a tree in a park—"

"Like when you were little? With my mum?"

Snape looked at him curiously. "Ah, yes. The memories. I'm not quite certain what they contained. I didn't have time to collect and organise them properly. As I was saying, I was lying under a tree, though in the state I was in before that damned snake bit me, and Lily was with me. Lily, as I had seen her last." His eyes swept over Harry and lingered on his face. "Younger than you are by a fair margin.

"She asked me if I was moving on. 'What else have I to live for?' I asked her." He pitched his voice higher and said, "'Don't you want to see how it all ends, Sev? After all you've endured to bring him down. Aren't you the least bit curious to know if Dumbledore's plan worked?'"

"'What choice do I have, Lily? The Dark Lord murdered me because he thought I possessed Dumbledore's wand.' And then she asked me if I was quite certain I was dead. She wanted to know if I could feel the floor under me, smell the scent of my blood. Could I still hear the battle raging and I realised I could.

"'Decide quickly, Sev, whilst there's still time. Do you want to live? Or do you want to move on?' I asked her if she was happy there. 'It's dead dull, actually,' she said. 'You'd hate it.' So I chose to go back. I woke up weeks later in the care of a demented house-elf from Burma. At least, I was led to believe it was from Burma. It may have been the creature's name for all I know of it."

"Where were you?" asked Harry. "Whose house-elf was it? Did you even know?"

Snape shook his head as he looked askance at Harry. "I tell you that I had a conversation with your mother as I lay dying in the Shrieking Shack and you ask me about the house-elf that rescued me. I can only assume Ms Granger's misguided quest to improve the lot of house-elves had more of an influence on you than I had originally thought."

"The house-elf has nothing to do with it." Harry wetted his lips and his wand hand twitched. "You knew that I was a Horcrux Voldemort never intended to create," explained Harry in a halting fashion. This was not a moment he cared to speak about, but it was important that Snape understand. "You knew that he had to kill me at the proper moment so that he could die and I would have a chance to survive and live a normal life."

"Yes, but what has that to do with my conversation with Lily?" asked Snape as he rolled onto his side and rested his hand on Harry's stomach.

"I'm getting to that," replied Harry with far more patience than he usually exhibited. "First, you have to know I would never have left you if I thought even for a moment that you had survived. I was certain you died looking into my eyes, so we left to find a Pensieve. But I'm not convinced that time always travels in a straight line, either."

"Seconds pass and become minutes, which then become hours, et cetera," said Snape. "Time is predictable, measured, and is one of the very few constants we enjoy."

"No, it's really not. Time might be measured that way, but it's not experienced that way." Harry waved his hand dismissively. "But let's save that for another day. What do you know about the last day?"

There was a long moment where Snape regarded Harry with far more affection than Harry could ever remember seeing in his eyes. It was enchanting. "I know only what was reported in the _Daily Prophet_. That at some point after you left me, you surrendered yourself to the Dark Lord as he predicted you would do. He and his Death Eaters arrived at Hogwarts with Hagrid in chains and bearing your body. Longbottom, of all people, refused to surrender, pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from that godforsaken Hat and slew Nagini. Then all hell broke loose and you prevailed."

"Where you aware that Nagini was also a Horcrux?" asked Harry, curious about what Snape had known and what he had merely suspected.

"I did not allow myself to wonder about his snake," said Snape. "The Dark Lord was a powerful Legilimens and I was too often in his company. I chose not to risk discovery by learning too much about his secrets. Dumbledore and I both felt it would be safer to keep me ignorant of all the Order had uncovered. Why?"

"Nothing important," Harry assured him. "Just an odd fact about Horcruxes. But anyway, Dumbledore was right. I had to die and it had to be at his hand, so I gave myself up. I walked into a clearing in the Forbidden Forest and let him use the Killing Curse on me. And then I was in King's Cross station and a deformed _thing_ was under a bench and wailing like a baby. And then Dumbledore walked up and told me it was beyond our help, so yeah, the fact that you had a conversation with my mum doesn't surprise me nearly as much as a house-elf from Burma."

There was a long pause whilst Snape simply stared at him, as if adding aconite to an infusion of wormwood produced a cauldron full of Amortentia. He glanced at the potions phials for a moment, as though considering whether he'd given Harry something he ought not to have done, but returned to staring in short order. "You were hit with the Killing Curse and ended up at King's Cross station. Why there?"

Harry shrugged as much as he was able. "Why not? If one is to take a journey, where else would one begin?"

"And Dumbledore spoke with you."

"Yeah. He said I had a choice. I could go back and finish the task I'd been given—though, really, anyone could have done it once Neville had killed the snake—or I could go on. But I couldn't just leave things undone. He'd killed my parents. I needed to know he was dead. It would hardly seem fair if we both died, especially since the Prophecy sort of implied one of us would get to live, and if that was true, then why not me?"

"Why not, indeed," agreed Snape. "Is there anything about your life that's ordinary?"

"My life is about as ordinary as it's possible to get," Harry assured him.

"Which explains why you were chosen to be the significant death required to create another Horcrux."

Harry closed his eyes and turned his head away. Being chosen as a target didn't mean he wasn't ordinary. He was an Auror and working hard toward becoming a Hit Wizard, someone who specialised in catching and prosecuting Dark wizards. Having dealt since birth with the cult that formed around the last self-appointed Dark Lord, Harry wasn't all that keen on seeing another one rise. Anything he and the rest of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could do to prevent that was alright in his books.

"The problem with that," said Harry, "is that my death wouldn't be all that significant in the grander scheme of things. I'm not the head of my Department. I'm not the leader of my squad. I'm not watch commander or the desk sergeant or anyone of consequence at the Ministry. I've been an Auror for about five years now and I've not really been involved in anything of note.

"Even more important, I don't know who kidnapped me," continued Harry as he looked over at Snape again. The Potions Master's eyes were closed and the lines around his mouth appeared deeper. "I know I've never seen him before and I never even caught a glimpse of the person who captured me. The only reason my death would be significant to someone like that is because he still blames me for how Voldemort ended up."

"The Dark Lord died at your hand, Harry," said Snape dryly as he cracked an eye open. "It's a bit hard to get around that fact."

Harry snorted out a mirthless laugh. "I didn't kill Voldemort. He killed himself. Sort of."

Snape arched a brow. "How does one sort of kill himself?"

"Well, he was going on and on about how my sudden reappearance amongst the living was a minor setback, and I told him that his only hope was to show a little remorse for all of the horrible things he'd done and he said he didn't need to show any remorse. He had the Death Stick. He was the master of the Elder Wand."

"Albus' wand," said Snape. His eyes closed again; Harry thought he looked mournful.

"Did you know it was one of the Hallows, then?"

Snape's eyes opened again. "One of the what?"

Harry paused for a moment. That question took him in far too many directions at once. "We'll save that for later as well," he decided. "Anyway, Voldemort was going on and on about how you had murdered Dumbledore—you didn't, by the way, so don't interrupt yet—"

"Yet?"

"See? I can't even get through one story without you interrupting," complained Harry. "But, to make a long story a bit shorter, he wasn't the master of the Elder Wand. I was. Draco disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower so the allegiance of the wand shifted to him. I defeated Draco at Malfoy Manor, so any wand that recognised him as its master now recognised me. So, I was the Master of the Elder Wand and wands don't like to be used against their owners, so whilst Voldemort prepared to cast the Killing Curse at me again, I was ready with the Disarming Charm. The one you taught me."

Somewhere in all that, Snape sat up. "Expelliarmus? You...you countered the Killing Curse with the Disarming Charm? _Again?_ "

Harry shrugged as much as he was able. "Why ruin a good thing? Anyway, his spell hit mine, ricocheted off the floor and, well, he dropped dead. And that was when the war ended. The Aurors and the Order started arresting the Death Eaters who were still alive—Molly killed Bellatrix, did you know that?"

"Molly Weasley?" Snape shook his head. "It would appear that the _Daily Prophet_ managed to miss a few details." He looked over at Harry and his eyes were bleak. "Had I known her children had a warrior for a mother, I would have been kinder. At least, I trust I would have done." He sighed. "I should have been kinder, full stop. I offer no excuses, Potter, for I have none. From the moment of my birth I have—"

"Stop," said Harry. "Did you think I'd forgotten what I learnt of you during Occlumency lessons? Between what I saw in your memories and what I already knew, I discovered that you and I had far more in common than we had differences. We both made mistakes."

"I am sorry, Harry, for a great many things—"

"No apologies," murmured Harry. "Not for any of it, not from either of us. We had our reasons, you and I, and they were valid then. But we're ten years past that and it's time to move on." He searched Snape's face for some sign of acceptance.

The shadows began to lengthen and, with obvious reluctance, Harry turned to Snape and said, "I've no idea what time it is, but it must be getting close to four o'clock."

"So it is." Instead of rising, Snape laid his arm across Harry's chest and pinned him to the bed. Craning his neck, he gave Harry a slow, gentle kiss before feathering his lips along the line of Harry's jaw. "Rather just remain here, but a promise is a promise and I did give my word."

Harry's heart tripped and raced and he pulled Snape's head down for another kiss. "You did. I'd say sod it, but she'd worry and spend the next six months scolding me for scaring her." His lips found Snape's and pressed against them. "You are altogether too tempting. Go, before I get us both in trouble."

Snape rose and stepped through the door, lingering for a moment for another look at Harry. The last time Harry had seen Snape appear this happy his mother had just referred to his father as a toe rag. Snape had very nearly been giddy. He had also been about sixteen at the time, so, Harry thought, some allowances must be made.

About twenty minutes later, Philip Sims walked through the door just behind Poppy Pomfrey and Harry's heart fell just a little bit. He knew Sims was Snape, but Sims was a stranger to him. And while ostensibly more attractive, he did not appeal to Harry the way Snape did. Still, Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from Sims, even whilst Poppy examined him.

"Quite the difference a day makes," said Poppy after casting charm after charm at him. "More important, how are you feeling?"

"Better," admitted Harry. "Still a bit tired, even after two days in bed. And I'm not hungry. Should I be worried about that?"

The tip of Poppy's wand danced over Harry's abdomen for a moment and Harry examined her face whilst she examined him. "It seems Mr Sims here followed all of my instructions to the letter, Harry, but it's not uncommon for one's appetite to disappear for a few days after such extensive injuries. Give it some time and if it's not back by Monday, come and see me. In the meantime, try soft solids and soups. And go easy. Your system has had a bit of a shock."

"I'll say," muttered Harry as his gaze swung back to Sims.

Poppy followed Harry's eyes and turned to face Sims. "As for you," she said as her eyes narrowed, "whilst I can't fault you for the care you given Harry since I treated him, if I hear that you've worked any Healing spells without proper training, I'll report you to the authorities. Knowing how to brew potions is not the same as knowing how to cure somebody. I have no idea why so many Potions Masters seem to think they are."

Harry braced himself for a war of words, but Sims only appeared amused. "You say that as someone who has wanted to make that same point a number of times. Does the Potions Master at Hogwarts make a habit of stepping out of line, then?"

Poppy deflated just a bit. "Not this one, no. But Horace doesn't consider himself a Master of Potions, just a potioneer. To him, there's a difference. Our last Potions Master, though…" Poppy's eyes glittered a bit and Harry realised that, like him, she still grieved. "Thought he could cure a sunny day."

Sims arched a brow. "Did you perchance mean a rainy day?"

"Ha!" barked Poppy. "It's safe to say you never had the pleasure of meeting Severus Snape. A sunny day was the last thing he'd want to see. He was the meanest, rudest, most ill-favoured man I've ever been forced to tolerate, but he was brilliant at Potions and fiercely loyal to those who gave him the time of day. He did not suffer fools, Mr Sims, but he brewed anything I required without complaint and never failed to thank me for seeing to his students. I'm sorry to say he had no idea how much I appreciated his efforts."

"If he's the sort to cure a sunny day, and is thoroughly loathsome to boot, I suspect he would not have appreciated your thanks, regardless of how sincerely they were offered," said Sims. "Better, I should think, to have escaped his notice than to have your appreciation brushed aside."

Harry was grateful Poppy's back was to him so he could stare and give his head a quick shake without notice. It was challenging enough to suppress the hot words that bubbled from his tongue in defence of Snape; he didn't want to get into an argument with Sims about Snape's good points. Still, he couldn't let the statement go completely unchallenged. "He wasn't thoroughly loathsome," he muttered despite his best intentions. "Only mostly loathsome."

Sims chuckled and his grey eyes twinkled almost as much as Dumbledore's. "I was given to understand that you're the person responsible for rehabilitating his image. It would seem that there are still a few stains yet to be rubbed out."

"One could do worse than earn the loyalty of Harry Potter," said Poppy. "Despite his youth, and regardless of the number of differences between them, it's safe to say that no one knows Severus Snape better than he does. I've heard it said that Harry speaks regularly to his portrait and continues to hope that it will answer him."

Sims' eyes gleamed as Harry groaned. His cheeks burst into flame and he gave serious consideration to pulling the duvet over his face. "Isn't it time for you to be getting back to Hogwarts? Surely they must be missing you by now. And I'm certain Mr Sims would be happy to escort you. I can just go back to my flat whilst you're gone, get cleaned up, nip over to the shops for some food…"

Both Sims and Poppy rounded on him and spoke at once. "There is no reason for you to leave—" "I don't want you out of that bed for—" They both stopped and Sims gestured for Poppy to continue. "Another day in bed, Harry, just to be safe. You can get up to use the loo and wash up if you wish, but I'd like you to rest." She paused for a moment. "The Ministry is up in arms about your disappearance. Shall I inform them that you're safe?"

Harry thought for a moment and shook his head. "No, that will lead to too many questions. Let me handle it. Besides, there's still too much I don't know and I can work behind the scenes better if no one knows where I am."

"Alone?" growled Sims. "I think not. I'll save him from himself, Madam Pomfrey. That much I can promise you." Tension, thick and sweet, strung like a high-voltage line between them as their eyes locked. Harry was the first to look away and Sims gave a satisfied nod.

Poppy bobbed her head like a bird, her eyes darting back and forth between them as though trying to decode a secret message. "Just remind him to rest," she stammered as her cheeks turned pink. "And if it's all the same to you, I'll just show myself out." She vanished almost instantly with a very hasty goodbye and a reminder that he was still expected at the castle that week.

A heavy silence was left in her wake and Harry suddenly didn't know where to look. There was nothing about Sims that appealed to him. Even his personality was all wrong. Harry wanted the biting, caustic man he'd known, not the bland, polite cipher who stood before him. "How much longer?" he asked, lifting his head to look Sims in the eye.

"Not long." Sims tilted his head. "There are a few things I need to see to and I need to arrange supper. Let me change and we'll get the rest of the evening sorted."

~*~

The sun had long since set when Snape returned to the bedroom carrying a tray with food to whet Harry's appetite. There were shirred eggs, baked beans, a bit of stew with the meats and veg well chopped, a small dish of minced chicken, and a bit of yoghurt. There wasn't much of anything, just a bite or two, really. Just enough to let him have a taste to see if anything appealed. To his surprise, Harry ate everything.

"You had to be hungry, Potter," Snape pointed out. "You were bringing back supper when you were captured and it's safe to assume you never had the chance to eat it. That was four days ago."

"Four days?" Harry set down his fork. "How do you figure? I can't have been here for more than two."

"You were taken on Thursday night. It's Monday." Snape sat in the chair and pulled it close to the bed.

The distance between them was unacceptable and Harry scooted to his left and patted the empty space on the bed. Despite a full night's sleep, Snape still looked haggard and worn. The deep circles under his eyes were a bit less pronounced, but there was still a greyish cast to his skin and a bit of a tremor in his hands. It would take more than a few hours of sleep to make up for the deficit.

"I know how you found me," said Harry as Snape slipped off his outer robes again. "And I know you don't know where that was, but where did Friday go? The last thing I remember is seeing the skeleton of a Dementor or something." He watched as Snape unlaced his boots and set them under the bed.

Taking a deep breath as Snape started to sit, Harry shook his head. "Wait. I know I'm not good at being cunning or subtle or anything, but I'm asking you to sleep with me. It doesn't have to be more than that—we can just talk if you want—but I'd like it if you'd join me. And unless you really do sleep in your shirt and trousers, you might want to, you know, get comfortable, maybe." By the time Harry had finished, his cheeks were burning, but given the way Snape had kissed him, there was a better than even chance his invitation would be accepted.

Snape shifted and regarded him steadily. "As much as I would like to remain with you, well, there's really no polite way to say this. Freshening charms only work so well. You need a bath, Harry. And the linens need changing."

If it really had been four days, then Harry could see his point. He remembered far too well the days spent hiding in a tent whilst being hunted by every witch and wizard in Britain and how he never really felt clean whilst they were on the run. Whilst their tent had a small bathroom, it still required water and that was not always at hand. "Do you have the energy to help me?"

Snape smiled, though it was tinged heavily with weariness. "I believe I can dredge some up. Give me a moment to prepare your bath and I'll help you to the bathroom." Snape pushed himself to his feet and disappeared. Harry heard water running and ran his fingers through his greasy hair. He gave his armpits a quick sniff and nearly gagged on the smell. He threw off the covers and sat up, wincing as his newly grown ribs protested. There was dried blood in the creases of his legs, in his pubic hair, and in the trail of hair leading to his navel and his stomach churned as he recalled how it got there.

Leaning heavily on Snape's arm, Harry recoiled as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink. His untamed hair, usually sticking out in twenty directions, was plastered to his skull, except where he had obviously dragged his hands through it. There was a five-day growth of beard covering bleach-white skin and the circles under his eyes had circles of their own. Nearly five days without food had hollowed his cheeks and his lips were as pale as the rest of him. His frightened green eyes looked enormous.

The bathroom was small by any measure. The tub was to his left, the toilet to his right. The sink was centred on the wall opposite the door. There was the merest suggestion of a counter surrounding it, filled with soaps, shampoo, and several washrags. On the short wall between the door and bathtub was a heated towel rack with two thick towels. Under the sink was a small step stool. To Harry, it seemed out of place.

The tub was filled with steaming water to which something had been added, though Harry couldn't place the scent. It was sharp and tangy, almost minty, but it smelled refreshing and inviting. Once Harry had removed his spectacles, Snape slid an arm around Harry's waist and with the other hand held him firmly by the upper arm as Harry stepped gingerly into the tub. "Oh, it's perfect," he sighed as he sank slowly into the water.

The purpose of the step stool became clear as Snape extracted it from the under the sink and sat upon it. Bending his knees, Harry slid under the surface of the water and let the heat penetrate his muscles. Whatever Snape had added to the water made his skin tingle in the most delicious way and he moved his arms slowly to create a current that caressed his skin. He surfaced with a gasp and smiled in Snape's direction. "I feel better already."

"I can see that you do." Though he couldn't tell without his glasses, Harry assumed Snape was smiling back. To Harry's surprise, Snape picked up an arm and began to wash it with practised skill. Thus began the most incredible bath of Harry's life, one that left little doubt about how much he was enjoying it. The heat and pressure began building in his thighs before Snape had even finished with both arms. By the time Snape washed Harry's feet, he was aching. And when Snape washed his groin with soapy hands, Harry exploded all over them. Harry dearly wished he could see Snape's face, but anything more than a foot away was already six inches too far.

"I'm—" Harry had no opportunity to complete the sentence. Snape's mouth found his and soft, supple lips played against his, teasing and nipping lightly until Harry was giddy with breathlessness. "So not sorry." He wrapped a dripping wet arm around Snape's neck and pulled him down for another long, slow, wet kiss.

"Now that I'm thoroughly drenched," murmured Snape, his face so close Harry could see the heat of his gaze, "I've no other choice but to join you to wash your hair." He stood to disrobe and whilst he did so, Harry changed the water. Best, he thought, to start fresh.

There was barely room enough for both of them, but they made it work. As Snape's long fingers massaged the shampoo into Harry's hair, Harry rumbled out a long, low moan of pleasure and when Snape's fingernails scratched lightly over his scalp, Harry's skin pebbled from head to toe. A pitcher appeared from somewhere, but since Snape was a wizard of uncommon skill, Harry couldn't be arsed to wonder where it had come from. Snape pulled him back against his chest and advised him to close his eyes.

As Harry relaxed against Snape, he felt the hardness of Snape's prick against the small of his back. Harry's heart skipped. Warm water ran over his head and face, fingers moved through his hair and a strong hand cleared the water from his eyes. "You asked me where Friday went," said Snape and Harry heard the words as a low rumble against his back. "Now would be as good a time as any to tell you.

"I do not believe you are fully cognizant of how badly injured you were. Or how much blood you'd lost to that cretin. It took me several hours to defeat the enchantments protecting that property without being seen. Three or four people came and went from the time I found you until I got you out and with the stakes as high as they were, I couldn't risk discovery. Fortunately, the house was empty when I managed to get inside." There was a pause and Harry craned his head around to look. Snape's face was grim.

"It's an old manor house, much like the Malfoys', which makes me reasonably certain it belongs to one of the old pureblood families. You were in a long room on the first floor, like an old dining hall, hanging from a hook that presumably held a chandelier at some point. There was blood everywhere, streaked across the walls, pooled at your feet. You appeared to have bathed in it. I confess I killed the old man before I bothered to ask his name. You begged for help."

"I remember asking you, well, someone, for help, and I'm glad you killed him. I didn't recognise you, though, but I'm not certain I would have known Ron or Hermione by that point. I was dizzy and I couldn't breathe and I _really_ didn't want to become anybody's Horcrux." Harry leaned his head back and melted into Snape. "Did you find the container? It was a bust of the Dark Mark, if that helps."

Snape rotated his left arm and looked at the place where the Dark Mark once resided. It had faded almost instantly when Voldemort died and Harry doubted Snape missed it even a little. "I destroyed it," he said flatly. "I would be happy never to see its like again."

"I would have if you hadn't done," said Harry. "Some things should never have existed; that's one of them. What about my wand? Did you find that?"

Snape kissed Harry's wet hair. "I was more concerned with getting you out alive and didn't really have time to look. However, we can use it to discover where you were taken and perhaps find some answers."

The thought of his wand in someone else's hand chilled Harry's blood. "We'll go at first light," he decided. "You'll have to bring me along, I'm afraid. Without my wand I'm not much use to anybody."

Snape rolled his hips and nipped at Harry's earlobe. "I can assure you that you are quite wrong about that."

Harry craned his head around and gave Snape a smile. "Let's go back to bed where I can take care of that properly." Harry stood and started to step out, but before he could, Snape came to his feet and assisted him. They towelled themselves dry between kisses, and then Snape led him by the hand to the bedroom at the rear of the house.

Unlike the room where Harry had been recuperating, this room was well lived in. There were books stacked on the bedside table and a row of photographs perched at the top of the wardrobe. A set of robes was flung haphazardly over a chair and on the desk sat a cup of tea that was several days old and had filmed over. The walls were the colour of heavy cream and deep burgundy curtains framed the windows. To Harry, it looked like home.

"My room," said Snape as he looked around as if seeing it for the first time. "A bit of a mess, I'm afraid. I'm not much of a housekeeper."

"It's perfect." Harry eyed the bed, the pale grey sheets printed with random blotches of colour, the dark grey duvet, the pile of pillows strewn near the headboard. It looked cosy. Harry turned to face Snape, took his hands in his and stepped backwards towards the bed. He kept moving until his legs bumped up against the mattress and he allowed himself to fall back, pulling Snape down with him.

"Might I remind you that you're still recovering and that Poppy will have my head if anything happens to you?" Snape lowered his head and the damp ends of his hair tickled Harry's shoulders. "And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm knackered."

"Not too knackered, I hope," replied Harry. "Besides, I said I'd take care of it and I will, if you'll let me. I promise nothing too…well, invigorating. To tell the truth, I'm not really up for much, but I'd like to and I know it will feel good. Maybe even help you sleep." Harry gave Snape a winsome smile and they untangled themselves long enough for Snape to lie on his back in the middle of the bed with Harry straddling him.

It was long, it was slow and it was as loving as Harry could make it. He'd waited ten years for a moment like this and he intended to sear it into his memory. He kissed Snape once on the lips and then kissed his way down the man's body, laying his lips on every mark and imperfection he could find. Every freckle and mole was given attention, as were Snape's nipples, the patch of hair on his sternum, the line leading to his belly button, the lines of his hip bones, the inside of each thigh, until Snape was arching into each touch and gasping at each press of lips.

At each point, Harry inhaled deeply, memorising Snape's unique scent. From time to time he'd rub against Snape like a cat, moaning softly. "You are so beautiful. I love your skin, the fur on your legs, all these lines telling me where to love you."

He kissed his way back up Snape's body, ignoring the heavy prick that lay in the crease of Snape's leg until he lay on top of him. He worked his hand between them and gathered their cocks in a firm hand. Slowly, he began rocking back and forth, thrusting along Snape's prick until they were both gasping. With a shudder, Snape spilled over Harry's hand, his head back, his hips coming off the bed. Harry followed almost instantly, coming with a strangled cry he tried to keep in the back of his throat.

To Harry's relief, Snape demonstrated his prowess with wandless magic and had them both cleaned up moments later. Harry rolled onto his side and within a very few minutes his head found a perfect place in the hollow of Snape's shoulder. "G'night, Sev," he mumbled as his eyes closed. If there was a reply, Harry never heard it.

~*~

"Are you certain you're up for this?" asked Snape for the third time as he read through the instructions again and verified the ingredients against the list in _The Nightshade's Guide to Necromancy_. "I've no idea if they've repaired the enchantments or if they're still down."

"You forget I'm a trained Auror, Sev. I know what I'm doing. If you can get us close enough, I'm pretty certain I can take them apart—or blow them to bits if it comes to that."

Snape poured a potion into a wide, shallow silver dish so brightly polished Harry could see his reflection and crumbled some dried mulberry leaves into it. He added some powdered ashwinder eggshells and laid four lionfish spines along the cardinal points. "Three drops of your blood as close to the centre as you can manage. The closer you are, the more tightly focussed your magic will be."

Harry picked up the knife and nicked the middle finger of his left hand just enough to squeeze out the three drops. Rather than spreading out as Harry expected, they congealed into a glob and he looked up in surprise. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"Yes, and judging from the size of the drop, you did well." Then Snape drizzled something from a phial in a circle at the end of the dish and lit it on fire. Dark purple flames danced over the surface and Snape lowered a teardrop shaped crystal into it, the tip puncturing the globule of blood. Bright blue flame shot up, engulfed the crystal, and immediately died. The crystal turned black.

Snape pressed the crystal into Harry's hand and closed Harry's fingers firmly around it. "Close your eyes and concentrate on your wand. Tell me when you feel the pull of it and I will Apparate us there. You will have to guide us, Harry." For a moment, Snape appeared uncertain. "Try not to Splinch us." He stepped behind Harry and wrapped his left arm around Harry's middle.

Nodding, Harry leaned into Snape and closed his eyes, concentrating on his familiar holly and phoenix feather wand, the weight of it, the feel of his wand in his hand. The tingle in his fingers when he worked magic with it. Even now, after all he had seen and done, there was a sense of wonder at it all. Gradually, he became aware of a gentle tug just behind his navel, almost like an echo of a Portkey. "On three," he whispered. "One… Two…THREE!" They turned in tandem and vanished.

Seconds later they appeared in a spacious bedroom with a sharp _crack_. Harry immediately crashed into a chair. Snape missed Apparating into a cupboard by a whisker and stumbled over a wastepaper basket. They froze, knowing they had made enough noise to wake the dead. Cautiously, Harry crept over to the door and plastered himself against the wall, listening with all his might. Snape ducked down behind a wide oaken desk.

"Shh," mouthed Harry, laying a finger over his lips. A full minute passed. All Harry could hear was the steady pounding of his heart. Silently, he crossed to the other side of the door. Slowly, he turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Nothing. He pulled the door open a little further and risked a quick peek down the hall. His breath came out in a whoosh. "Clear," he whispered. He closed the door as gently as he could and walked with quiet steps to the desk.

Whilst Snape began to examine their surroundings, Harry started opening desk drawers. "It must be here somewhere," he said in as quiet a voice as he could manage. Tightening his grip on the crystal, he closed his eyes again, reaching out with his senses. There was a slight pull to his right and Harry opened the door to the cupboard Snape had very nearly Apparated into.

"Accio Harry Potter's wand," said Snape and something shot off the top shelf.

With the reflexes of the Seeker he had once been, Harry snatched it out of thin air. The second he had it in his grip he breathed a sigh of relief. "I feel whole again." He met Snape's eyes. "Thank you."

"We're not done here," warned Snape. "We need to discover where we are and who took you. The 'why' we already know." He gestured around with his hand. "There's not much here that will help us." The tables on either side of the bed held little more than a lamp, an alarm clock, a few coins, and a photograph that must have been nearly a hundred years old.

Harry turned his attention back to the desk and began opening drawers. "There are a lot of papers here. Maybe some have names on them." Laying a stack on the desk, Harry began to rifle through it. "Burke, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Black—naturally, Rosier, Malfoy, Crouch. This is like looking at the tapestry of Sirius' family tree." Harry shook his head and shoved the papers back in the drawer. Straightening, he turned to Snape and said, "We need to search the house, see if we can find out who lives here."

"We need to make certain this is where you were taken," corrected Snape. "There's nothing to say your wand wasn't given to someone else as a prize."

"Or taken," replied Harry. "You did say that several people had come and gone when you were trying to get in." His head swivelled around slowly and he moved to the side of the window and peered out, revealing as little of himself as possible. "Does anything here look familiar to you?"

Exercising the same amount of caution Harry was showing, Snape moved on silent feet to stand near Harry. "The angle is different and it was dark when I arrived, but I recognise the sycamore at the top of that rise. There should be gardens just around the corner of the house." Crossing the room to the door, he paused a moment before pulling it open. The hinges creaked and Harry winced as his wand came up.

Snape waited for a three-count and stepped into the hall. Harry moved swiftly to cover him, a curse on his lips and his wand at the ready. The wide hall was dimly lit, the light from the bedroom its only source. There was a closed door on either side and a wooden landing at the far end. They moved like wraiths to the top of the stairs. "Cover me," whispered Snape as he descended, remaining as close to the wall as possible.

Once Snape was halfway down the first flight, Harry followed in his footsteps, letting his weight settle fully before moving to the next step. At last, they stepped out into a gallery connecting the two wings of the house. As if knowing where he was going, Snape turned decisively to his right and stepped into a corridor that ran perpendicular to the gallery. He turned to the left and entered the first room he came to.

"This is the place," he said, barring Harry's entry into the room. "Think before you decide you want to see this." His dark eyes were grim as they met Harry's. "It would appear we were the last to leave here alive. You may wish to contact your department and have them send a team in rather than see to this yourself."

As Harry tried to catch a glimpse inside, the sharp odour of death hit him squarely and the colour leached from his face. Splotches of dark brown clung to the bits of faded wallpaper Harry could see and he decided he really didn't need to know more. He stepped into the middle of the hall and moved his wand in a decisive arc. " _Expecto Patronum_." His stag erupted, blinding white and beautiful. "Find Robards. 'Send a tracking owl to me and ready a forensics team to follow.'" At a gesture from Harry's wand, the stag bounded through the wall.

Suddenly, a thought slammed into him with the force of a stampeding hippogriff. Harry staggered as his world crashed down upon him. He fell back and clutched at the wall for support as he reeled. "In about five minutes or so, a dozen Aurors are going to appear," he managed through a throat so tight it threatened to strangle him. "You need to leave. Now. Before they find you." His eyes burned and for a moment he couldn't breathe. "Will I ever see you again?"

Before Harry could even get the words out, he was crushed against Snape's chest. His spectacles twisted and dug into his nose, but he didn't care. It wouldn't be the first time he'd used the mending charm to repair them. Snape's hand was moving over his head and the low sound of Snape's voice echoed in his ear. "You foolish, foolish boy. I'm not a coward, Potter. I've no intention of leaving you to face your fate alone."

" _Please_ call me Harry," he managed into the side of Snape's neck. Inhaling deeply, he pulled the sharp scent of murtlap and amber into his nose. They stood in the hallway wrapped in each other's arms even as the sharp crack of Apparition burst like shrapnel all around them.

Faye was one of the first to appear. "Harr—oh my!" She took a step back, crushing Benjamin Savage's foot under her heel. "It's Snape!" chimed another voice. "Severus Snape." "Snape." "It's a Death Eater!"

Harry's head came up sharply at hearing that and he thrust Snape behind him as he moved out into the hall. "Leave him alone," he snarled as his wand came up. "The scene's in there. Get to work."

A hand reached out and touched his arm. "Harry." Tears streamed down Faye's cheeks and Harry felt a pang of guilt. "We thought you were dead." She scrubbed at her face and gave him a watery smile. "It's been nothing but Weasleys since Sunday."

"I'll fix it with them. Don't worry." The throng of Aurors hadn't moved an inch and Harry realised he would have to say more. "Snape found me—I'll explain how back at the Ministry—and did his best to patch me up. There's a body in there. I don't know who he is. The blood you'll find is mine."

Two more men Apparated in, but Harry didn't move until the taller one spoke. "I can only imagine how many stories you have to tell, Severus Snape." A great dark laugh filled the corridor and Harry felt some of the tension leave Snape's body.

"Kingsley," intoned Snape as he inclined his head. "And Gawain Robards, I presume. Shall the four of us reconvene at the Ministry? You must have a number of questions for me."

~*~

Rather than being led to the Detention Centre where the Department conducted the vast majority of its interrogations, Harry and Snape were escorted to a well-appointed conference room on the first floor of the Ministry building quite near Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. As the purported victim, Harry was not supposed to attend the examination, but Kingsley had noted a certain ferociousness in Harry and thought he'd have better luck separating a dragon from her egg than Harry from Snape.

Harry and Snape walked hand in hand to the far side of the table. Across from them sat Robards and Williamson. Kingsley made certain that both food and drink were available and then sat himself at the head of the table, quill in hand. Harry wondered if he missed working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and decided he probably did.

Once settled, Kingsley walked Harry through all he knew, though it felt as though he couldn't get more than a few sentences out before someone poked their head into the room. They started with the attack at Flourish and Blotts, reviewed the kerfuffle at Trafalgar, and ended with Harry's brazen abduction from a public street in full view of several horrified onlookers. Harry even extracted his memories of the events and endured having them dissected whilst he listened. Harry then walked them through the attempt on his life. All the while Robards scratched out a series of notes that Williamson left to deliver.

"And that's when you were rescued by Severus Snape," said Kingsley.

"Yes, but I didn't know it was him until later," explained Harry. "By that time, I'd already been sliced to ribbons and smashed with some sort of bone shattering hex. All I recall seeing was a skeleton in black robes walk into the room. It could have been Death himself for all I knew."

"And now we come to Severus Snape, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Hero of the Second Wizarding War, and one of the last known victims of the Dark Lord himself. " Kingsley sat back in his chair and regarded Snape with a mildly exasperated look. "We don't really have any provisions for persons returned from the dead, so I'm not quite certain where to start."

"I was born on the ninth of January, 1960, in Cokeworth," said Snape, clearly enjoying Kingsley's discomfiture.

Kingsley arched a brow in amusement and Robards said, "I don't think we need to go back quite that far, Mr Snape. Why don't you tell us how you became involved in all this?"

"First, do you still have the letters from Joan Carpenter filed away?" asked Snape. "And did you follow up on any of them?"

Williamson gazed steadily at Snape through eyes clouded with suspicion. "What do you know of that?" he demanded. "Those letters are strictly confidential, not to be shared with personnel outside the department."

Harry squirmed in his seat and his grip on Snape's hand tightened. Three pairs of eyes speared him and he blew out a breath. "I might have mentioned to Minerva McGonagall and her Heads of House that we have an informant in Knockturn Alley."

Snape's eyes were soft on Harry as his fingers carded through the wayward strands of dark, silky hair at the nape of Harry's neck. "Minerva can be trusted, Harry. Even if she knew who sent them, she would never connect that name to me."

"You sent them?" a chorus of voices demanded.

Snape nodded his head. "Joan Carpenter is but one of my aliases. I am known to most as Thracius Spence. He also has an assistant who fills in from time to time named Brighid Fitzhenry. And, as I'm certain you know, Thracius Spence is the founder of Back Channel Brews."

Harry turned crimson and Williamson froze. Even Kingsley barked out a cough, leaving Robards to wonder why everyone in the room had suddenly gone barking mad. "Back Channel," said Kingsley once he'd regained control, "makes the best sexual lubricant, bar none. Absolutely amazing stuff, Gawain."

"Ahh," muttered Robards. It was the only time Harry could recall seeing the man flustered.

Snape then recounted everything he knew, beginning with the overheard conversations at the Grimpen and ending with Poppy's last examination of Harry the day before. He explained how he swept his shop every evening just after closing and collected from the detritus any human hairs he found. "I've no idea who they belong to, so it's almost always a bit of surprise when I transform." His eyes cut sideways to Harry. "I do have a small collection of known hairs. I save those for special occasions."

Harry immediately wondered who Phillip Sims was and, more important, who he was to Snape. "You needn't worry," murmured Snape as he nuzzled against Harry's ear. "He's a brewer I met in Canada. An arse of the first water." Somehow, that didn't put Harry's mind at ease.

Under questioning, Snape was forced to admit that he had actually hired help to assist at the shop whilst he was running around following the person who was following Harry. It had taken him a few days to work out that what he had thought was a network of people was actually three people using Polyjuice Potion. "I should have realised that the person I thought to be Daphne Greengrass was merely impersonating her instead. But you may wish to question her to discover who her closest friends are. Someone knows her well enough to put even me off the scent."

Robards scratched out a note and handed it to Williamson, who disappeared through the door almost instantly. Harry connected the dots and took some small comfort in knowing that Draco Malfoy would be having a small breakdown that evening. He would be panic stricken upon discovering that his sister-in-law had spent the afternoon being interrogated by the Ministry.

Snape then spent the better part of an hour explaining the scrying spell he'd used to find Harry—or at least Harry's spectacles—and how it wasn't Dark magic since he'd worked the spell to locate a trace of himself instead of anyone else. He also told them how he'd reworked the spell to help Harry find his wand. To Harry's surprise, Robards was far more interested in the practical applications for the magic Snape had crafted and extracted a promise from Snape to work with the Department of Mysteries for further refinement. "We might be able to keep better track of our Aurors if we had a spell such as that."

Once Snape had taken them through his rescue of Harry and answered every single question in the exact same fashion over and over again, Kingsley decided that they had enough information to begin making arrests. Given the circumstances, he would smooth over with the Wizengamot Snape's use of an Unforgivable Curse. In his mind, there were extenuating circumstances, especially since an examination of a wand found at the scene revealed that the Killing Curse had been cast earlier that night.

~*~

It was late afternoon when Harry and Severus stumbled out of the Ministry, weary after hours of interrogation. Once outside, Snape lifted his face to the sun and closed his eyes. He stood still for a moment, allowing the sounds of London to wash over him. He inhaled deeply and then started walking along the pavement, his long stride putting distance between him and the Ministry.

Harry stood and watched Snape walk away without even looking back. "I'm not going to see you again, am I?" he called out as his heart broke. "You're going to disappear again, only this time it will be worse because I'll know you're alive, but I won't know where you are." Snape stopped short and turned swiftly, his robes billowing around him. Harry looked at him with panic-filled eyes. "I've spent years finding out everything there is to know about you. I can't—" His voice broke and he coughed. "I'll search, you know. For as long as it takes."

Snape stared and walked back slowly. "Where—? Oh, for Merlin's sake." He grasped Harry by the upper arm and dragged him back inside the Ministry. He gave the directory a quick glance and dragged him through the atrium in the direction of the lifts. "Level two," he snapped as the doors closed.

Harry's brow furrowed as he shook off Snape's hand, only to lace his fingers through it. "We, uhh, could have just taken the stairs..." The door to the lift creaked open and Snape stepped out. A large sign directed him to the left and before long, they were standing at a plain counter in the Register Office where a long rack of forms greeted them. Snatching one out of its spot, he thrust it at Harry and picked out a quill from the small cup nearby. "Fill out one of the sections, Harry. We'll work out the details once we've finished here."

Still struggling to work out exactly where they were and what they were doing, Harry took the form and scanned it quickly. After gazing askance at Snape, he read it more carefully and went very still. "This says we're getting married."

"Yes, well, as I said, we'll work out the details over dinner," Snape replied absently whilst he fished around in his pockets for the four Galleon fee. "But fill out one of the lines and for the love of all things sacred, please do better than your usual chicken scratches. I refuse to discover some years down the road that I am wed to 'Howvwz Poltiew'."

Biting back a grin, Harry took the form and printed as carefully as he knew how 'Harry James Potter'. After listing his address and occupation and signing on the line below, he handed the form back to Snape. He watched carefully as Snape completed the form and walked with him to face the clerk. "H'lo, Demelza," he said, grinning so hard his cheeks were beginning to hurt.

"Hey, Har—oh my!" Demelza's brown eyes nearly popped from her skull and she bounced up and down like a child until she caught the darkening expression on Snape's face. "Umm, that will be four Galleons," she managed as she pressed the Ministry seal into the paperwork. Behind her, a small crowd was gathering and whispers flew through the office like a squadron of aeroplane memos. "It's good for thirty days, so make certain you've got that knot well-tied by then. Good luck, Harry. Professor."

Snape turned to Harry and smiled. "Now then, Mr Potter, shall we go home?"

 

_The next day..._

**Attack on Harry Potter Leads to Marriage** **  
Severus Snape Survives**

_The whereabouts of Harry Potter were discovered yesterday at Old Morialta, ancestral home of Bertram Parkinson, age 97, now deceased, announced Gawain Robards, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The celebrated Auror, missing for five days, was rescued by the former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, who was long assumed to be dead before his miraculous appearance yesterday morning._

_A target of attacks since early September, Potter was snatched off the street near his London home by Pansy Parkinson, 28, granddaughter of Bertram Parkinson. Ms Parkinson was arrested at her home in Somerset early yesterday afternoon. Aurors working on the matter indicated that sufficient evidence was located to ensure Ms Parkinson will have a lengthy stay at Azkaban._

_Potter accompanied Severus Snape to Ministry offices yesterday where he and Mr Snape underwent vigorous questioning by the authorities. Robards stated that Mr Potter sustained severe injuries during the time he was being held captive at the Parkinson estate, but due to the timely intervention by Mr Snape, left the house alive. "Mr Parkinson intended to murder Auror Potter as an act of revenge for the death of You-Know-Who. I would remind people that the war has been over for ten years now. It is time to let bygones be bygones."_

_Mr Snape and Mr Potter celebrated by making an appearance at the Register Office and filing an application for marriage. The _Daily Prophet_ wishes the happy couple a long and prosperous life together._

 

Harry never cared much for the _Daily Prophet_ , but the article on the front page was one he intended to save.

**Author's Note:**

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